The 226th Hunger Games
by escope789
Summary: 26 go into the arena. 25 die. 1 comes out alive. This is the story of 26 teenagers fighting for survival, and 25 of them failing. Let the 226th Hunger Games begin.
1. Prologue

_This is my first fanfic, and a sequel of my friend's 225th hunger games fanfic. Enjoy And let the 226th Hunger Games begin!_

Ah, the Capitol. A safe haven in a world of wars and misfortunes. The glittering center of Panem and its 13 districts surrounding the land. Once lost, it has once again been founded and resumed its full glory!

It all started hundreds of years ago. The ruins of a lost continent called North America. Filled with a vast and empty nothingness. Wars tore across the land and uprooted proper living. Brother rose against brother, and son against father. No one was safe, and nothing was at peace.

But then, the Capitol rose from the ashes and so began the great civilization of Panem and its 13 districts ringing with joy of the new land of hope and prosperity! Each district specializes in their own way to help the Capitol become the shining light in the lost world.

Each year, however, to give the message that rebelling will only bring more death and devastation, the Capitol created the Hunger Games- a brilliant way to keep the districts in line. Every year, two citizens of each district, a boy and girl between the ages of 12 and 16 were picked by lottery at an annual reaping. They were brought to the capitol where they are showered with pride, and then brought to an arena to fight to the death. The one survivor, bathed in riches and glory, shows the Capitol's generosity and forgiveness.

However, not everything was at peace. Seventy-five years later, new rebellions tore through the lands. The Districts rebelled and took over parts of the capitol. Wars once again presented themselves in a whole new fashion. The Capitol was then defeated-almost. Five years later, with help from a foreign country's technology, the Capitol rose once more. Districts 12 and 13, previously destroyed, were restored and the reign of the Capitol began again, forgiving the districts of their choice to rebel. The Hunger Games was started once more, and now, over a hundred years later, is still being used to keep the districts in line and bring everyone together for a time of festivities for the games!

**Author's Note: I'll be adding more pages soon, I just wanted to get the prologue out of the way :D Next week I'll have the D1 Reapings posted**


	2. District 1 Reapings

**Flicker Spectral's Reaping**

"Honey, your breakfast is getting cold," echoes a voice from the long hallway.

"Just one more minute," I mutter, without even opening my eye. With one hand, I gently twirl my long blond hair into a small knot and undo it. A small breeze rustles through the curtains and scatters small cherry blossoms on my queen size bed. I am about to fall asleep once more, when the sound of a door opening and slamming brings my hope of sleep to a halt. My sister, Emerald, thumps up the stairs and hops into my room, brimming with excitement.

"Excited?" she chirps as she tosses the covers off my bed and dances around the room. "You're gonna volunteer, right?"

"Maybe," I grumble as I sit up and brush the hair from my eyes, annoyed that she woke me. "But I can't volunteer until I look presentable. Where's my dress?"

"It's in the dressing room, silly!" Emerald says as she pinches my cheeks playfully. She skips away before I can hit away her hand. Sometimes she really annoys me. Emerald is 13 and she acts as if I'm her baby, even though there's a five year age difference between both of us. She dances out of the room as I stand and make my way to the dressing room. If I _am_to volunteer, I can't look like a total mess.

In a few minutes I have brushed my hair back and put on three layers of my birthday mascara, which I only use for special occasions. This is a special occasion, all right. I was planning on volunteering last year, but some snobby girl in my class did instead. She hardly had any training, and barely made it halfway through the game before she was killed by some weakling from an outlier district.

I pull on a beautiful scarlet dress my mom sewed for me and spin around in the mirror. I'm gorgeous, and everyone knows it.

"It won't be too hard for you to pull sponsors," says Emerald, appearing behind me with a grin on her face. "I can't wait 'til you win. Then we'll have even more money and Mom'll be able to buy me another horse."

"You already have two," I laugh and pat her head before heading downstairs. Mom is heating some hashbrowns and Dad is reading the newspaper. Mom looks at me pointedly as I sit down.

"You're _not_going to volunteer, hear me?" She snaps as she pushes me a plate of breakfast."Remember what happened last year to that girl? That could be you. Right, James?"

My dad looks up at me from his newspaper and grins. He's not strict about these things. "Yes, but she wasn't pretty enough to pull sponsors," he says with a laugh. Mom sighs and sits down with her plate of eggs. "Better fix your hair up for the Reaping," she finally says.

In the plaza, I join the other eighteen year olds and meet up with my other friends, Valire, Kota, Trista and Chelsy. Valire and I both both trained together for the past seven years, and I stand next to her and grin. "This might be the day," I say and she smirks.

I glance around the rest of my age group. To my left is a small group of nerdy girls who have no other friends. They try to cower and hide from us, but it doesn't work.

"You idiots ready to die?" I snap at them. One girl, Suzy, tries to run away but trips on a piece of loose wire and falls in front of me. Pathetic. Without hesitating I kick her stomach until a peacekeeper shoots me a glance and she crawls away. For the rest of the time, Valire, Kota and I tease them until they all burst into tears.

Suddenly the crowd grows silent. A woman named Boutique walks carefully on the stage to the microphone and taps it to make sure it is on. After making sure, she welcomes us to this year's reaping. I zone out as I imagine killing her and her ugly purple curly hair in the games. She's new as an escort this year, but most agree that she's awful. She's never in a bad mood, she's too skinny, and he ugy dyed hair is a mess.

I am brought back to my attention when she says, "Ladies first!" With a skip and a bounce, she heads to the glass jar with the girls' names and pulls the first one she finds before heading back to the microphone.

With a deep breath, she echoes, "Suzy Belgrade!" Suzy barely has time to wail when I shout "I VOLUNTEER!" The square is silent, and then Suzy manages to say "Thank you.." I kick her in the shin before heading to the stage. My mom is glaring angrily at me from the crowd, but I don't care. My mouth twists into a grin and I glower down at the audience.

**Glint Tarragon's Reaping**

The spear whizzed through the air and found its mark. Red liquid splattered everywhere and the opponent fell to the ground. Laughing, I pulled the spear from the dummy and began to clean it with a white washcloth. My trainer, Lucia, gives an approving nod and walks over to where I'm seated.

"Nice work," she says. "Maybe I'd give you a six in training. You're improving."

I grin and finish polishing off the spear. Lucia was known as the best and hardest trainer for the hunger games in all of District 1. Getting a six from her would at least be a nine for the capitol.

"Want to practice one more time before the reaping?" I nod and rise while she watches.

Grabbing a mace from a bin of weapons, I beat the same dummy to death. The dummies are filled with some sort of red dye, which makes it look as if you're killing an actual victim. After a few minutes, the dummy is almost beaten to a pulp. I toss the mace back and grab a dagger and stab the set of dummies as I dodge fake arrows launched at my head and stomach from Lucia. After about ten minutes of this, my mom enters the building. The light from the door shines all over the dye on the ground and on my set of clothes. She sighs as she sees the mess on my shirt.

"We have to be in the plaza in one hour!" she scolds. "Hurry up and get home! Do you want to be able to volunteer or not?"

I roll my eyes and wipe the dye off my arm. "I'm volunteering next year, when I'm more prepared, mom," I sigh as I place the daggers back in the bin. "I'm only volunteering if someone awful like Charris is reaped."

"What's wrong with Charris?" she asks after we say farewell to Lucia and step out of the building into the sun. "He seemed nice when I first met him."

"We're _enemies, _mom, it's as simple as that," I reply, annoyed. Why did she always have to be so annoying? Parents don't understand anything. Charris was a boy who bullied me when I was in elementary school after I accidentally crashed my scooter into his father's expensive car. Sounds lame, I know. Charris was one of the many reasons why I decided to train.

As we arrived home, my sister Angel greets us at the door. It's funny how her name describes the complete opposite of her. She trains with Lucius, one of my father's long time friends who trained to be in the games but never actually was. Angel has learned so much already, and sometimes I can barely beat her when we're fake fighting with swords to practice. Still, we're very close.

It takes me only a few minutes to shower and change. I put on a fancy suit and small red tie laid out by my father, who is 36 and is as bloodthirsty as my mother, who is 35 and trained for the games when she was a child. However, when she was reaped at age 18, a different girl ended up volunteering to her dismay, so she was never able to be in the games. It's a shame, too, because she would've won.

After putting on some cologne, I step outside with Angel and we make our way to the plaza. We're the last ones there and arrive barely before the escort, Boutique, steps onstage. I wish Angel good luck and make my way to the seventeen year old crowd. I quickly meet up with my best friend Scintillate and we exchange high fives. "You volunteering this year?" he asks.

"Nah," I reply. "Unless someone I hate gets reaped. Can't let them win and steal all the glory now, can I?" He laughs and then Boutique starts speaking.

"Welcome to the reaping of the 226th annual hunger games!" she chirps loudly into the microphone. "Today we will choose two tributes with the honor of representing District 1! Exciting, isn't it? Well, ladies first!" Boutique brushes her purple curls out of her eyes and grabs a slip of paper. It turns out to be Suzy Belgrade, a nerdy girl who lives on my street. However, someone else volunteers for her and she walks up to the stage.

"Next, we'll choose the boy tribute!" she exclaims cheerfully. God, she annoys me. Slowly she makes her way to the second glass jar and takes her time before picking a slip of paper. Returning to the microphone, she reads the name. "Charris Hamylton!"

Charris' expression turns into an evil sort of grin and he begins to step forward. No! He can't be reaped! If he wins... Without finishing the thought, I dash forward and shout, "I volunteer!" I can tell Charris is fuming behind me, but I couldn't care less. After all, in a few short weeks I'll be a victor, and he'll be nothing!

**Author's Note: So there's the D1 reaping! One thing that seems to be happening is that when I uploaded this, it was placed before the prologue. So I'm sorry if it's published that way, I'm not sure what happened. I'll try to get the D2 reapings done as fast as possible.**


	3. District 2 Reapings

**Desdemona Romnea's Reaping**

The sound of thunder wakes me from my dreary sleep. I glance up at the window only to see an endless downpour slamming against the ground from the small circular window arching over my head. I sigh and focus on trying to go back to sleep, but I can't. It doesn't matter. I'm too excited for the reaping to care about getting sleep. I can already imagine the faces on my family, friends and teachers as I volunteer for some poor pathetic twelve year old. I'd pull sponsors in the capitol for sure.

I reach up and turn on the small lamp next to my bed, and grab a thin magazine that's almost falling apart. I read it every night. It's about surviving in the wild, and in the games. Most of it's pretty basic stuff I knew when I first started training at age six. However, it has useful information about plants, what's edible and what isn't. The funny thing is, I bet I'm the only career who actually studies edible plants. All the better when I'm in the arena with them.

Suddenly my younger sister appears at the door. She's only ten, and I love her more than anything. Her name's Diamond. I have a sister my age, Meloncholy, who's never trained because she fears death, but still loves the gore of the games.

Diamond enters the room. "Don't volunteer," she squeaks. Her face shows determination. She doesn't want me to risk my life for something as awful as the games.

"Don't worry," I lie soothingly, "I won't." Diamond hugs me and a smile breaks across her face before she leaves the room. Kids. Such idiots. You can tell them anything and they'll believe you.

I stand from the bed and pull out my lucky knife. It has a curved, jagged edge which is great for torturing. Ah, I can't wait to be in the arena. I stretch my arms first, and then I throw the blade at a dartboard hung up on the wall. It lands in the small red center of the circle. Of course it did. I never miss.

After a few minutes of this, I practice a few traps that leave the enemy hanging upside down from a tree. My mouth twists into a grin as a small wooden dummy is hung by its neck.

When I've had enough of this, I practice some sword fighting, which I've mastered years ago. When I'm done, I bathe for an hour and change into a beautiful red dress. Ah, red. My favorite color. The color of blood. By the time I'm out of the bathroom, my parents are awake and cooking a huge buffet for breakfast. They do this every reaping. It's their way of getting excited.

As I sit, Meloncholy comes out of her room and chooses a seat across from me. People can't even tell we're siblings, we look so different. I have dark brown hair, almost black, and brown eyes. She has very light brown hair and blue eyes. She's also tall, and I'm just medium height. She stares me down as I take a grape from the fruit bowl and pop it into my mouth, and then she rolls her eyes.

"Don't even pretend you're not going volunteer," she says. "Even last year you said when you were eighteen you were going into the games."

"Who's gonna stop me?" I say in a taunting voice as I pop another grape in my mouth.

"No one," she says, her eyes burning with frustration. "Just think this over. If you volunteer, we all get to watch you die. Do you want that?"

Now my anger gets the most of me. "I'm not going to die, so shut up!" I scream as I hurl the fruit bowl at her head. She ducks and it ends up landing on the floor and breaking into a million tiny glass pieces and oranges start rolling around the floor.

Fuming, I head to my room and slam the door. This is what always happens. My anger always wins out. Maybe that's why I choose friends and enemies so quickly, and why I'd win the games.

I pick up a knife and throw it at the board. It misses completely and hits the wall and sticks, creating a hole. Furious I pull it out and stab the dartboard until my anger is gone. Then I remind myself how I can never train when I'm angry, or I lose control of everything.

Sighing, I put on some makeup and eyeliner before heading back to the kitchen. Mother glares at me from behind her glasses. This happens every morning. As a rule, Mother doesn't like me compared to Diamond and Meloncholy. Because of this, Father always favors me more.

After a small breakfast, we all head outside to the main square. We're early and the first ones there. Father, Mother and Diamond stand in the back of the square, patiently waiting for it to fill. The ground is sopping wet from the rainstorm earlier, but the sky has cleared and puffy white clouds line the sky.

Mother won't care if I died in the arena, that's for sure.

Meloncholy and I walk to the registration woman who pricks our fingers and takes the blood to make sure we're the right person. Then we're told to go ahead and move to a small roped off area reserved for the eighteen year olds. For a while we wait silently as the plaza fills with people. Eventually, my two best friends, Philadelphus and Myrica, arrive and stand with me. Philadelphus is blond and the prettiest girl in school. Myrica is has red hair, and is tall and athletic.

"Volunteering?" asks Myrica as she stands next to me. In return I give her a large grin. Then this year's escort, Caldesia, steps to the stage and towers over the microphone. Her skin, paper white, does not match with her pure black wig. Caldesia's fingernails are painted a disgusting bright pink and her high heels are purple polka dotted. Hideous. Her personality seems to be dark, unlike most escorts who are overly cheerful.

"Welcome, welcome," she says in her usual drawling voice. "Let's just get to the point and choose our tributes." Then she talks about how she doesn't like to follow rules so she picks the boy tribute first. There's a volunteer, which is expected.

"Now, let's just get this over with and choose the girl," she says loudly and begins to walk over to the jar of names. Before she is even halfway, however, I run forward.

"I volunteer!" I shout. Caldesia turns towards me, her eyes flashing.

"Well," she says sarcastically. "You're supposed to _wait_for me to pick the name, but since you seem so keen on getting killed in the games," she pauses for effect, "come on up."

**Jigge Meastre's Reaping**

A small squeaking mouse startles me from my thoughts. With a smirk, I grab my ice pick and throw it to my right, silencing the mouse permanently. Then I yank the ice pick away from the oozing gash and stuff it back in my pocket before resuming my thoughts of how I'll win the games.

_There's two of us left, me and the little girl from an outlier district. She's trying to hide behind that tree, I can tell. I can hear her annoying little whimpers of fear. With an evil expression and a smirk, I silently make my way to the tree. She's still trying to hide, I'm surprised she's made it this far in the games._

_"Surprise," I say as I grab her neck. She's struggling and crying but that won't stop me. Slowly I grab my dagger and slash her-_

"Jigge!" snarls my father from the doorway. He's leaning against it with his full support, and obviously drunk. No surprise there. Ever since I was a child he'd take himself out of his misery with alcohol, not ever wanting responsibilities or kids.

"Jigge!" he shouts again as his head begins to droop and he waves away some imaginary being. "Get over here!" Without saying a word, I stand and walk over to him, glaring fiercely. Grabbing a small wooden board, he slaps me hard on the face, leaving my cheek bruised and covered in splinters. But I don't flinch. He's not going to see weakness in my eyes. No one is. In a moment he hits me again, even harder on my left cheek. Then he laughs and smirks.

As he turns to enter the house again I grab him by the neck and yank him down the small stone steps. He's tall, but weak because the alcohol has taken everything out of him. With a small gulp of surprise, I hurl him backwards down the steps. I'm disappointed when he stands up, as I've hoped he'd died. But as he stands, he collapses on one leg. Laughing cruelly, I hurl a flowerpot at his head. I hear a sickening impact as I enter the house and climb a long flight of stairs to my room.

Our house is huge. I don't even understand how we can afford it, because my dad spends it all on booze and my mother doesn't even have a job. Stealing, probably. Before becoming a drunkard, my father called my mother a sly fox because she could steal so easily and never get caught.

As I stomp down the long hallway to my room, I see my brother Mace sharpening a long blade he uses to torture animals. I just use my ice pick for the animals. It's more dull than his blade, which makes the torture much slower and painful. And entertaining. Mace is thirteen and began his training four years ago. I've been training for years with a man named Urstead. Since then I've mastered every existent weapon. As I near my room, Allye quietly slips out of it holding something small.

"Hold out your hands," I order and she stops, holding out her hands. They're empty. I grin for the first time in weeks. I don't know what she stole, but after today I won't need anything. After today I'll be in the Capitol training for the games.

Allye is a beautiful fifteen year old with blond hair and blue eyes that shine. She looks like an angel, but that's only on the outside. Her main hobbies are stealing and beating up other boys. I shove her out of my way and enter my room to change for the reaping.

I change into a red suit and wash my face before leaving the house. Mace and Angel will be in the square soon. Silently I walk to the square as I tromp through the soaked puddles and drizzle. By the time I've arrived to the square, almost everyone in town has already arrived. The registration woman pricks my finger but I hardly even notice it.

In the eighteen year old section, everyone is chattering nervously. I stand alone, staring at the Justice Building and waiting for the reaping to begin. I don't have any friends, and just seeing people being happy makes me yearn to rip their throat out.

Finally, the escort Caldesia arrives. "Welcome," she says in her usual scratchy voice. "Let's get to the point and choose the tributes. Now I couldn't care less about the rules, so we'll choose the boys first." Slowly she walks to the bowl of names and selects one before returning.

"Cornelius Meyer!" A hush falls over the crowd as he begins to step forward. But then I'm running to the stage, shouting "I volunteer!"

I know people won't want me to win. Too bad. Because I will.

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading! District 2 done, only 11 more to write. In a few days I'll be traveling to San Diego and won't have much time to write, but I hope on finishing the District 3 reapings by then. Please tell your friends about this fanfic, because I'm new and hardly anyone reads these yet XD Also, tell me in a review if you have any ideas for the games. Thanks!**


	4. District 3 Reapings

**Vira Melia's Reaping**

Soft hands paw at my face, dragging me from the bliss softness of sleep. I open my eyes only to see Garlic staring at me with her huge bowl-like eyes. She pokes my face again with her paws before curling down on my stomach and purring. I smile and pet her gently as her breathing slows and I know she's asleep.

Garlic used to be a stray cat living in the streets of downtown District 3. My parents, who own the local supermarket, found her sitting in a basket of garlic in the back of the market, hence her name. I had always wanted a cat, so they agreed to adopt her. We've had Garlic for about three years now, and she's grown to love all of us, especially Ficus, my baby brother. But she's not allowed to sleep with Ficus because he can't sleep when she's around.

I watch as the sun rises over District 3. Generally it's not a pretty site because of all the factories which are polluting the air, but no one is going to be working today. Everyone in the district will be grimly waiting in the square while the names are picked. I just hope it's not mine. For the last two years it hasn't been. I'm fourteen now and luckily I've only had to take tesserae a few times, so my name's only in there six times. Much less than my friend Lyra, who may be the poorest girl in town. Her name is in the jar at least sixty times. If she was reaped I would die; she's my only friend.

According to Lyra, my personality is like a sad doe. I'm always quiet, which means I'm easily pushed around, but luckily no one notices me enough to bully me. I'm too nervous and silent to make any new friends, and it's a miracle Lyra noticed me so I don't have to eat lunch alone.  
Even though my family isn't rich, my mother always insists on letting Lyra take home some fresh vegetables from our garden. My dad says mom's grateful that I found a friend since I never make any motion to talk to people unless forced to.

I pick up Garlic gently and set her on the aquamarine covers of my bed. Then I step into slippers and head to the garden. It's my place of sanctuary from the horrible world of Panem. Our garden is large and overflowing with ripe tomatoes, grapes, corn, and almost every imaginable fruit or vegetable. Small stepping stones lead through the garden out towards the other end where we keep the apple and lemon trees. Strung up between two trees is a small white hammock that my mom knitted me for my birthday. Sighing, I lay down on it and swing myself as I watch the beautiful sun rise over the distant mountains. It must be 6 AM now, so the reaping won't start for another ten hours. The thought exhausts me and slowly I drift to sleep.

When I wake I know it must be afternoon. Checking my watch, I see that it's already noon! Oh, great. Swinging myself off the hammock, I make my way to the bathroom where I shower and scrub my hair until it's glistening clean. My parents were probably too busy with preparations to remember to wake me on the hammock. Quickly I pull on a black and white skirt and a pink shirt. If it's not a warm day, I'll freeze my legs off. I don't even bother putting on lipstick or makeup. If I get reaped, I want peope to see how I really look.

I walk to the kitchen where my parents are waiting for me with a huge stack of pancakes. I smile apprehensively and sit down, glancing at the clock. The reaping starts in one hour, so I should be there soon, before it starts.

I can only choke down one pancake out of the stack because I'm so nervous. Mom smiles grimly as she takes away my plate. "I guess we'll save this for Garlic," she says reluctantly. She hates to waste food. At this moment, Ficus toddles into the room and hugs my feet.

"I wuv you, Vi-rah," he says loudly into my knee. I laugh. He always brings a smile on my face.

"I love you, too, Ficus," I say before glancing at the clock again.

"Oh!" I exclaim. "We should get going." This brings the happy moment to a halt. We all step out the door. The square is pretty close to our house, and we see others trudging towards the plaza. I end up walking next to dad, who is 35 but looks much older. I grew up being closer to him, because Mom was always working non-stop at the small market we own.

Then we reach the square. I immediately see Lyra and run on over. She has dark hair and olive skin, and looks young for her age. I hug her and then we get in line. The whole time we're chatting quietly about what would happen if one of us would be reaped. We would die, obviously.

"If you get reaped," says Lyra, "I can help feed your family." I roll my eyes, even though the offer is polite. "With our garden, we'd last years before starving. And your family is poorer than ours."

Lyra's cheeks instantly go pink and I feel bad. "Sorry," I say, but she's already turning to get her finger pricked. We get sent over to the fourteen year old section and we wait in silence until Viktoria arrives. Our escort is short and wearing all pink, my least favorite color. She's cheerful, like most escorts are, and I hate how she's always trying to brighten the mood.

Viktoria clicks her heels together and says brightly, "welcome to the annual reaping of the 226th Hunger Games! Well, ladies first."

I should be nervous, but I'm not. I'm just immensely relieved that she seemed to forget talking about the history before the games like last year.

Viktoria reaches the glass bowl, and digs to the bottom, finally grasping onto one name. Then she goes back to the microphone. I'm suddenly overwhelmed with such fear that I don't even hear the name. But the next thing I know Lyra is hugging me as hard as she can, and people have moved aside and formed a straight path for me.

My name was called.

I'm going to the capitol.

I'm going to die.

**Thomas Petersburg's Reaping**

"Wake up, dear," says a soothing voice from above me. I glance up and it's mom smiling at me. "Time to wake up. Daddy and I made you breakfast. You'll need a full stomach for the reaping."

I smile and step out of bed. My mom is a loving, gentle, and kind woman who is 39. She always does what's best for me and we have a tight bond that cannot be broken. Her long brown hair is tied up into some kind of complicated braid that only my father can master.

At this moment she's leading me to the kitchen where some waffles and a glass of milk are waiting. I grin as I sit down. I'm most likely the only boy in town who's not nervous for the reapings. After all, there's about a two in fifteen thousand chance, considering I'm thirteen and our family isn't poor enough to force me to take tesserae. But we're not rich enough so eating waffles is a rarity that only the reapings begin. That's why I don't mind the reapings so much. It means more food.

Quickly I drain the glass of milk and chow down the waffles. My mom laughs as she eats her meager breakfast of baked oats. Then my dad enters the room, yawning and stretching his arms.

My parents are often described as perfect. It's kind of annoying sometimes, because they're never in a bad mood and they are non-stop encouraging me to attend electronic camps and study all the time. They are always calm and obedient. And I have _never_ seen either of them complain. My friends say I'm lucky, but I don't like it. It just seems fake and inhuman.

Dad smiles and kisses mom as he seats himself at the table and serves himself a fresh cut apple. They love each other more than anything and I haven't seen them ever have a fight. Another reason why they seem so inhuman and fake.

"I signed you up for another computer class," mom says as she finishes her meal. "Are you interested in it? I know that your friend Kyle had his mother sign him up. You could have fun together."

"I guess so," I mutter, even though I've hated Kyle for months now. But computer camps are my form of entertainment. If I had to be in the hunger games, I'd just electrocute everyone on day one and be done with the whole thing.

After breakfast I quickly change into a small suit and a blue bowtie before heading outside. The reapings start at two and it's only noon now, but I promised my friend Daren I'd meet him at his house.

As I reach Daren's mansion he steps outside in an expensive tuxedo. His parents are wealthy from inventing some sore of wire which attaches to a satellite connection and brings internet connection easily. It's all the rage in the capitol, but few people in District 3 can even afford computers. It's strange knowing how Daren's parents are so well-known in the capitol. If he's reaped (which I doubt he will) he'll pull sponsors just because people have heard of him.

Daren has his short brown hair brushed to the side. His dark eyes gleam with excitement as he leads me into his house and up the stairs.

"Why did you want me to come over early?" I question him curiously.

"Because," he says, a smile on his face, "I want to show you something."

It actually turns out to be some brand new computer for his birthday which was three weeks ago. He's so excited that I pretend to be a little enthusiastic, especially since every time I visit his mom puts together a bag of food for my parents. So I have to be grateful, even if he is a little self-centered.

At one o'clock we exit his house and walk down to the square where we meet our other friends, Trevor, Jack, and Seth, who are all thirteen like us and all resemble each other. They are all wearing identical black tuxedos and ties.

After the woman pricks our fingers, we head to the roped-off area to wait. Some other boys who stand next to us glare at us, as if they're annoyed that we're standing next to them. Oh well. No one really likes us, except for teachers, because we're nerds who "think we know everything." Sometimes I wish they could get reaped so they wouldn't have to irritate us anymore.

The escort, I think her name is Viktoria, stands from her seat and makes her way to the front of the stage to address the district. On the way to the microphone her pink wig slips and falls off her head and lands behind her, revealing her naturally red hair. After struggling to pull it back on again, she steps forward.

"Hello, and welcome to the 226th District 3 reaping!" she exclaims in her squeaky high voice. "Today we will pick one courageous boy and girl to be represented as tribute for District 3! First, the girls." She picks the girl, someone I don't know, and then turns her attention to the boys.

Slowly, as if to make every moment as nerve-racking as possible, she walks to the jar of boys' names and chooses one. Then she returns to the microphone and reads the name.

"Thomas Petersburg!"

All I feel is confusion. There were two in fifteen thousand odds! How is this possible! I must've heard wrong! No! Everyone is staring at me! This can't be happening! I can't die! What about mom and dad and Devon and-

A peacekeeper nudges me with his gun. "Go to the stage!" he snarls under his breath. Slowly I make my way forward, tears streaming down my face.

**Author's Note: Tomorrow I'm traveling to San Diego, so I won't be able to write much while I'm gone. I might be able to finish District 4, but probably not. And sorry the D3 reapings were shorter. I was bored with it the whole time. Please write me a review and give me ideas about the games or the arena. Thanks!**


	5. District 4 Reapings

**Merida Colifer's Reaping**

I sit up and let my reddish-blond hair fall over my face, covering my eyes and falling to my chin in wisps. I grab my brush from the bedside table and carefully untangle my heap of hair that flows down to the center of my back. When I'm done, I stand and change into my regular clothes before viewing myself in the mirror. I guess you could say I am muscular, but not as much as most of the other careers. Oh well. I'm stronger than most of the others, too. I can work with bow and arrows, maces, but tridents most of all.

Walking to the kitchen, I grin as I see that no one is awake. Silently I grab a butcher knife and step outside.

The weak sun is just spilling over the horizon. In a minute I've walked to the other side of the house and grabbed a spear I made by myself last year. It's made out of a fine, glossy wood but it's light-weight and easy to throw.

With the butcher knife, I spend the next half hour sharpening the edge of the spear until it's finely pointed. Then I enter the house, grab my shoes, and exit towards the copse near my house. Our house isn't large, in fact it's smaller than most in my district. My family can easily afford a mansion, especially since the debt of this house has been paid off. But my mother wants us to stay here for some reason. Maybe it's because for over one hundred years her ancestors have been living here. I don't mind the house, because I still get a room to myself.

I enter the copse, and sit on a rotten log that practically cracks under my weight and glance at a small target attached to an oak tree. Over the years, I've set up a plethora of my own targets, cut from the wood of my spears or bought from the local store. In the center is a small, red dot which is so small you can hardly see it.

I stand on the log and aim the spear at the target, when the sound of marching comes to my attention. I duck behind the log as hundreds of peacekeepers flood the street in a straight line, heading towards the plaza. They're probably making the last minute preparations for the reaping right now. In a straight line, they are holding their guns in a similar position and walking slowly at the same pace. Their small ivory helmets block me from their vision.

Once the crowd of peacekeepers exits the street, I stand again and hurl the spear at the target. It sticks to the center and I grin. Climbing the branches of the tree, I finally reach the target and pull down the spear which has punctured a hole in the target.

I've trained by myself for years. Since I was little. I actually decided to be in the Hunger Games when I was twelve, to put my training to good use. Before then, it was just to take my anger out on something.

I lay down on some grass and gaze out at the sky. This may be my last day in District 4 until I return from the Capitol with riches and fame. I think I can easily win. I'm fast, and most other careers are too bulky to run quickly. I'm great with all weapons, even obscure ones like bow and arrows and poison. I can even make my own weapons, in case I get lost from the alliance or something. Most of the careers are also extremely idiotic. Last year, I remember the girl from 1 who died when her long hair got caught in her own tribute trap and she was decapitated. Another year the girl from 2 was killed by the twelve year old from District 12 when she was pushed off a cliff.

Smiling, I allow myself to close my eyes and listen to people chattering on the dirt road which the peacekeepers had been on.

An hour later I check my watch. It's eleven, a bit late considering how long it usually takes me to get ready for the reapings. I grab the spear and jog home. Mother and father are both awake, and sitting by the counter with waffles and grain. The grain's from my tesserae. Actually, we have pounds of tesserae stored in the basement. We have so much my mother forces us to have small portions of the grain and oil just to make more room for future tesserae and to make sure it doesn't go bad. I don't need tesserae, since we're obviously rich, but I still take it weekly. Bigger chance of having my name in the bowl, smaller chance of not being reaped. So far I've taken over one hundred servings of tesserae so if there's some sudden natural disaster that cuts off District 4 from food, we won't be harmed.

"Been training?" asks father with a smile. He fully supported me training for the games, since he knows I'll win.

"Yep," I respond. "I think I need a new target, though. My spear kind of stabbed through the other one."

My mother rolls her eyes. "I can't keep on buying you new targets. You'll just have to make another one out of wood." She then smiles, and I know she won't force me to make a new one. The one I just destroyed took weeks to create properly.

After a small breakfast of waffles and eggs, I run to the bathroom to shower. I'm quicker than usual, and at noon I'm all dressed in my blue gown for the reaping.

"Leaving already?" father asks as I'm about to leave the house. "You didn't even say good morning to Peony."

Peony chooses this moment to burst from her room and go scrambling to me. "Merry-da?" she says in her baby-like voice. She's six but has called me that since she was a toddler. "Merry-da I brought you a present." Then she hands me a small bracelet which she apparently made in class. I smile and hug her.

"I'm off to the beach now," I say to her. Then I turn to mother. "I guess I'll see you at two. Tell Perennial to meet me there at 1:45." Then I step out into the sun.

Perennial is my twelve year old sister. I decided to meet her there because she's terrified of reapings, even though she knows that if she gets picked I'll obviously volunteer, since I'm planning on doing that anyway if my tesserae doesn't help me get reaped. Perennial has brown hair that flows like the ocean waves down her back. Her eyes sparkle like the sea, and her skin is somewhat dark from years of living on the coast.

I reach the ocean in only a few minutes. Immediately I see Elysa, my best friend and practically sister since we were born on the same day and look exactly alike.

"Excited for the reaping?" I ask her. She absolutely hates the capitol but doesn't fear the reapings. She laughs and we continue down to the shore.

Once we reach the sand, we pull off our dresses and run to the water. It's warm but cools our sweaty skin. District 4 is so humid and tropical that it's hard to walk far without breaking out in sweat.

For an hour we frolic in the waves washing over our heads. Suddenly a huge gong sounds across the District. This is the sign that the reaping is about to begin.

"We might be late," Elysa says, and we run to the shore and pull on our dresses before slipping on our sandals and running to the plaza. It's about ten minutes from the shore, and by the time we reach it it's almost two o'clock.

Suddenly I realize that I have to meet Perennial here. Wait! I can see her now, in her twelve year old section. I'm glad she could do that by herself. Getting her finger pricked. Then I kick myself. Of course she can do that by herself, she's twelve for crying out loud! But she did seem so nervous yesterday...

Suddenly my relief evaporates as I notice the tears flowing down Perennial's face. The popular girls near her who are teasing Perennial. I can't tell what they're saying from here. But I see a bruise on her cheek, and her tears. And the kids don't even stop. Perennial never was popular in school, she only had one or two friends at the most. I know people teased her, but I thought it would be lightly, not punching her in the face!

I charge forward when one of the girls slaps her face so hard I can see the red mark. Tearing through the roped off sections, people gasp and dodge me as I propel myself to the front. I end up knocking people out of my way as I charge angrily through the plaza. The escort is glaring at me from her seat on the stage but I don't care. I can't let people do this to Perennial.

I reach the right section and run at the girl who slapped Perennial. Suddenly I've knocked her on her back. Before I can control myself I've ripped a long piece of wire from the ground and I am wrapping it around her neck, strangling the life out of her...

The girl's choked cries bring me strength. The other girls who were bullying Perennial scatter. I abandon the one I tried to strangle and attack another one, knocking her on stomach and punching her rapidly as she screams...

Suddenly two strong arms grab me and yank me into the air. I'm screaming and kicking, but they won't let go. The entire plaza is staring horrified at me, even Perennial and Elysa. Other peacekeepers whisk the two hurt girls away. One is sobbing uncontrollably. The other is eerily still. I can see the escort trying to cheer things up, and after a few minutes she's picking the names from the bowl. A peacekeeper shoots something into my arm. Before my eyes close, I hear the escort calling out my name. The crowd gasps, and the girls who bullied Perennial are laughing cruelly.

Before I fall unconscious, my eyes lock with Perennial. I see her horror and she begins to run forward when a peacekeeper grabs her and drags her out of my view.

Then everything goes black.

**Asura Roko's Reaping**

"Get out of the pantry, you filthy beast!" shouts a voice from downstairs. Then there's a loud screech and a splash. After a minute, Krisco pads up the stairs, soaking wet, and enters my room. He sniffs the air a few times, then pads around in circles before selecting a spot on my black carpet to dry. The carpet is Krisco's exact fur shade and he almost completely blends in.

When he's done washing, he sits up and stares straight at me, his amber eyes piercing mine.  
I stand from my bed and he sprints from the room. I can hear him crashing down the stairs and the annoyed shout from my dad.

I walk to the bathroom and stand staring into the mirror. My long black hair is messily brushed and it falls over my eyes. Just how I always have it. After a long bath, I change into a clean white shirt, a tie, and slacks that my mom has laid out.

After changing, I stomp down to the kitchen where mom and dad are waiting. Mom has some green substance rubbed on her face, which apparently is supposed to make her look younger, though it doesn't work. She's 44 years old, and four years younger than my father. She is a good mother, I suppose, but sometimes she doesn't have the patience to deal with me and I'm always thinking that she wishes I don't exist. Dad is extremely strict, and doesn't even allow me to train so I have to make sure he doesn't find out. If he does... I'll be grounded for life, or worse, like getting whipped until I'm crying and falling on me knees. No- he'll never see me cry. Ever.

Mom grimaces and serves me some bacon and fruit. I pick at it, my mind elsewhere. Then Krisco returns, completely dry, and hops up on the table. I shove him off, but feed him some bacon underneath the table.

At ten o'clock I exit the house after saying goodbye to mom and dad. I don't spend as much time at home as I should, I just feel like I don't fit in there. I'm sure that my parents love me, but they seem so uncaring on the outside.

I find my feet leading me to the nearby lighthouse. It's old, white, and nearly falling apart. According to my history teacher, it was used before the Dark Days to help ships reach the harbor. But there hasn't been any ships here for years. I remember climbing up to the top of the lighthouse when I was maybe nine years old, eight years ago, and seeing some sort of battleship far from the shore. But nothing has been here since.

The door of the lighthouse swings open when I push it, and I slowly climb the steps. Every day for ten years I've done this routine. As I reach the top, I look over the horizon. The same thoughts run through my head. What is out there? Is Panem is the only place in the world? No, definitely not. After 75 years of hunger games, Panem returned with help from a distant civilization in a place that used to be known as Central America.

Suddenly I realize I've been staring straight ahead for ten minutes. I snap out of the trance when I hear splashing below. I look down and see two girls swimming loudly in the ocean below. They'll probably get in trouble, because the reaping will start soon. Quickly I walk back down the stairs of the lighthouse and walk back onto the road.

I walk down to a field near my house where I often practice sword-fighting. I have a trainer, but all of my spare time is spent on swords. By the looks of the sun, it's close to noon now, so I still have two hours to practice.

Hidden in a small hole is my sword, a gleaming steel weapon which can cut through nearly anything. Pretending to fight an imaginary enemy, I step back and forth, dodging the invisible attacks and thrusting the sword forward. Back, forth, slash, thrust, back. The pattern continues until I'm exhausted and the sun says it's one thirty. Then I bathe once more in the pond in the meadow surrounded by reeds, and exit the meadow, leaving the sword back in the hole.

As I'm walking to the plaza, I spot Dane, my friend for several years now. He's the class clown; a huge prankster with a giant sense of humor. Dane is also the smartest kid in class, though hardly anyone would believe that.

"Hey," Dane says to me as I saunter over. "Been sword fighting again?"

"Yup," I reply. "I think this year might be the year." Dane smirks. He has been training almost as long as me, but not as intensely and by himself. Still, he would place high if he were in the games.

Suddenly I hear a growl and Krisco pounces on my head before settling on my shoulders. I shake my head, knowing that dad must have kicked him out of the house again. I guess Krisco found me, even though I'm almost a quarter mile from the house.

We arrive at the plaza five minutes past two, and immediately I can tell that something is wrong. People are running everywhere, and a girl is screaming in the twelve year old section. Then I see a girl my age, the one I saw swimming in the ocean, punching a girl who is lying on the ground. Two peacekeepers grab her and are carrying her away as she screams. Two others are being carried away by other peacekeepers.

The escort, Jamyria, tries to brighten things up. "Well now!" she chatters. "That was, well, exciting! Let's choose the tributes now!" With a nervous laugh, she chooses the girl, who turns out to be the one that was carried away screaming. Then she walks over to the bowl of boys' names and selects one.

"Asura Roko!" she says loudly into the microphone. Before I even have time to respond, a peacekeeper has grabbed a random girl in the twelve year old section and is dragging her away.

I am immediately directed up to the stage and glare down at the other teens who are scattered around the plaza. Krisco, who is still sitting on my shoulders, glances down at them all, terrified.

Before Jamyria has time to ask for volunteers, Krisco has leaped off my shoulders and is snuggling in her overlarge purple wig. She screams loudly which annoys Krisco, and he hisses and rips through the wig before attacking her shoulders.

I am shoved into the justice building by a peacekeeper as she screams and tumbles off the stage, Krisco still clawing down at her dress.

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I'm still on vacation, so I won't be able to start the District 5 Reapings for at least two days. Please review and post suggestions for the next reapings. Thanks!**


	6. District 5 Reapings

**Roese Oakke's Reaping**

The faint glimmering of the sun shining through the square glass windows wakes me. It must be seven in the morning right now. The time I always wake up, even on holidays like today. Of course it's a holiday. The reaping is supposed to be a time of celebration. The Capitol wants the games to seem as fun as possible as it tries to pit the districts against one another. Probably so when they're competing each other, they won't have any time to rebel.

At this moment, Sappe is snuggling happily on her side of the bed. She's only five years old and has short curly brown hair. Sappe is the sweetest person I know. Everyday when I return from school or friends' houses, she's got some sort of present for me. Usually it is some sort of hair pin or craft from school. Occasionally it's a shell or a ladybug, which are both rare in District 5. Our district is almost completely urban, almost as much as districts like 3 and 8. Outside the district, however, are small piney woods and lakes. A few hours outside the border is a huge wheat field.

They say District 5 used to be a place called Nebraska.

I stand from the bed, making sure not to wake Sappe who must be having a happy dream. Before I exit the room I pull my quilt over her small shoulders and blow her a kiss.

I walk through the creaking wooden house and pass my brother and father's room. I can hear my brother, Flyckre, snoring loudly from the room. I wonder how dad is still asleep. Flyckre is a tall fifteen year old who is somewhat a punk to my dad's displeasure. We're very similar, and unlike my thirteen year old sister who I can hear in the bathroom. As I'm about to sneak out of the house she emerges and glares at me.

"You're going out today?" she snaps, as if I'm the stupidest person in the world. "It's the reaping today! Are you an idiot?" I just stare at her and she rolls her eyes. "Fine," she says. "Just don't bring back any meat."

"Clover," I say, trying to calm her. "You must really care about me if you're worried that I'm going to die in the woods," I finish jokingly. She just rolls her eyes again and leaves to her room. Clover is thirteen and is just like Sappe in a way; she's innocent and caring.

Once I leave the house, I lock the door with a spare key in the shape of a heart and walk through our small garden to the border fence of District 5. We live right on the edge, where there are not many residents so we're usually the only ones on the streets. In less than a minute I've reached the tall, metal fence which is only turned on in the evenings. I climb over it and make my way to the small woods. It's home to all kinds of animals, including the most delicious: Groosling. It's a rare food but popular among the citizens of District 5 who I sell meat to.

I reach a small willow tree with a hole filled with spears and bow and arrows. I grab a spear and head to the small koi pond a few minutes from here. On hot summer days like today it's the best activity. All you have to do is sit by the pond and throw spears into the water.

At the pond, I lean against a rock and dunk my feet in the water. The koi fish glance up curiously and attempt to nibble the ends of my toes. I spear a fish and set it on the ground.

When I was little, my parents taught me how to use basic weapons in order to hunt and get food for the family. That was when we were below the poverty level and practically living off scraps. But then after mom died, dad was hired as the servant of the richest man in town. This means he's gone almost all of the time, but he's happy as long as we're well fed. His "master" let him stay home today due to the reapings.

After I've speared about seven fish, I wash my face in the pond and head in the opposite direction. In a few minutes I've reached a large plateau covered in stone. It used to be a quarry for the Capitol but was abandoned years ago. I sit and cook one of the koi I caught earlier. It's not as good as trout or tuna, but that can only be bought at the market.

When I'm finished I sit in the sun for a few minutes and stare at a large oak tree with bushy leaves. This was the place where mom first met dad thirty years ago. I've heard that she was a sweet and loving woman as a child just like Clover and Sappe. I just remember her as a tired and stressed woman desperate to keep her family alive. I didn't need people to tell me she was loving however.

When I was around nine years old, she was framed for stealing illegally from the mayor's mansion, who was a bloodthirsty man. The next day she was executed on live TV.

I've never been the same since.

I stick a twig into the ground to check the time, like a sundial. It's ten o'clock. Funny, it doesn't feel like I've been out here for three hours. I trudge back to the tree where I hide the spear, and then climb over the fence again. As soon as I have reached the ground, it buzzes with life and I sigh with relief before jogging all the way home.

Everyone is awake when I step through the door. Dad is rushing around and making everyone a small breakfast of cut melons and berries. Sappe is playing with Clover's long hair and she is mindlessly poking her breakfast with her fork. I know she's nervous, but she likes to cover up her feelings. Her name is only in there twice. My name's in there eight times, even though I'm only sixteen.

My dad, who is 37 with short brown hair looks up at me from cutting fruit and smiles. I hand him the koi fish and take my seat at the table.

"Don't be worried about the reapings," he says with his back turned. "You should see some of the other girls. Their names are in there tens of times."

"I'm not that nervous," I say. It's a lie, and everyone can tell. Flyckre laughs sarcastically and pushes his plate away.

"You're the worst liar," he says. I glare at him and take a piece of fruit. The calm I felt in the forest has evaporated.

For the next couple of hours we just roam the house apprehensively with the reapings on our mind. Flyckre, Clover and I all have our names in that bowl. At one o'clock we all head to the square which is about a mile away. Half an hour later we arrive. Dad and Sappe head to a neighboring street to watch the reaping on the big screen as the rest of us stand in line for registration.

Suddenly someone pokes me from behind. I whirl around and see Skyye laughing at me. I sigh. Skyye is probably my best friend and has been for years. She's somewhat of a rebellious teenager, although I don't see her that way. She has long brown hair, brown eyes and a huge sense of humor. Behind her is Merkye, a girl who I have been friends with for a couple of years now. We don't have much in common and she doesn't have any other friends but we still like each other.

We engage in nervous conversation until it is our turn to get our finger pricked. Ahead of me, Clover winces as the woman draws blood before heading off her to section to chat with my friends. Once in our section, the three of us talk about what we would do in the games.

"I would just run away and then get eaten by a mutt the next day," Merkye laughs. "I have no other skills."

"Well, you can dance..." Skyye says and we all break out into laughter. It's either this or being terrified.

Finally, after minutes of waiting, the escort Bybelia enters the stage. She has bright red hair, the color of blood. I can never tell if it's a wig or if it is dyed, because it is such an unnatural color. Her face is covered in light purple make up which makes her look both atrocious and horrifying. She nears the microphone and giggles in her high pitched voice. She is such an airhead. As she talks about the history of Panem, Skyye and I chat quietly amongst ourselves. Finally she gushes, "Well! Ladies First!"

I stare down at the glass jar. Will she pick my name? I certainly hope not. Her red painted fingernails reach down and take one small slip of paper and heads back to the microphone.

The next moment of my life had to of been the absolute worst.

"Roese Oakke!"

Silence fills the stage. Many people knew me from selling them meat at their back doors. I feel tears filling my eyelids, and one drips down my cheek. Merkye is staring sadly at me and Skyye, although strong, has burst into tears.

I can feel the gaze of everyone in the square. Everyone has formed a straight path for me to the stage. Silently, stiffly, I make my way to the front. As I near the stage, I loosen up and lift the frown off my face. I can't look pitiful.

"Here we are!" chirps Bybelia as I stand next to her. "Our female tribute! Now for the boys." I don't pay attention to what she's saying. My gaze is locked with Clover and the tears flooding her eyes. I manage a small smile, but really, I am just another piece of terrified prey in the Capitol's games.

**Aspen Orris' Reaping**

An annoying bird call wakes me. I try to fall back asleep but he calls again, even louder. It's Garfunckle, the red rooster who lives in my backyard. Groaning, I rise from my bed and change into clean clothes before heading out the back door to my backyard. Garfunkle is sitting on top of the small wooden fence that separates us from our neighbor's house. He calls once more and then stares at me as if I'm an intruder. I sigh and fill up a basin of bird food for him. Immediately he plunges his face into the basin and literally attempts to gobble up everything instead of his normal pecking. Talk about messy eaters.

I step back inside the house and turn on the air conditioning. It's still morning but the hot summer air is already filling the house. I walk up the flight of stairs and enter my bathroom where I turn on the hot water and take a long bath. It is the number one thing that relaxes me.

I step out of the water after an hour and change into fancy white clothes which my family can easily afford. We're among the richest in District 5. My father is a distant relative of the previous mayor so we inherited some of his wealth. He also has an expensive job working alongside the new mayor, who everyone in town despises. I think he's okay though, because thanks to him dad gets paid tons of cash.

My mother is kind and usually loving, but she doesn't seem to be on the good side of the law. For example, she robbed the previous mayor's house and slit his throat. His son-in-law (the new mayor) knew it was her, but my father and him helped to arrange something so she wasn't blamed.

Since then she's been okay though. Especially since she brings me expensive gifts at every chance she can. She doesn't always bother me about my descending grades, which is pretty cool also.

I head to the bathroom and brush my teeth, comb my dark brown hair and wash my face with cold water. Then I head downstairs for breakfast.

Mother and father usually sleep in late, but my brother Peak is awake and pouring himself a bowl of cereal. I envy him in a way, because he's only eleven and he doesn't have to worry about the reapings for another year. Whereas this is my forth reaping and I still have three more to go once this is over.

"Your report card came in the mail today," says Peak dryly as he tosses me a small stapled stack of papers. I glance at it before dumping it in the trash. Mostly D's, but an A in the physical education class. At the bottom it has the teachers' complaints about me. They always complain. All of my teachers hate me because apparently I don't pay attention and egg the schoolhouse at night. No matter how many times I've had detentions, however, they're still disappointed because I still manage to be the most popular boy in the class.

I pour myself a bowl of oat cereal and seat myself by the counter while wondering about the arena this year. Will it be frozen terrain? A burning desert? Nothing but water and a small island to guarantee a fight?

While I'm thinking, Mother and Father enter the kitchen yawning sleepily. They smile at Peak and I before pulling out the ingredients to make some pancakes for themselves.

"Who do you think'll get picked this year?" Father asks as he pulls out a carton of milk.

"Probably the poor kids by the square," I respond, trying to imagine the poverty-stricken kids in my district. There weren't many. I drink down the rest of the milk from the cereal and head upstairs and change into an expensive tuxedo my mother brought home one day. By the time I'm finished, it is about noon. Garfunckle is sitting on the golden chandelier and pecking at one of the lightbulbs. Mother is serving pancakes to Peak, who after bowls of cereal is still demanding more. Of course he is. Peak is somewhat of a spoiled brat.

An hour later my parents bid me good luck and farewell as I leave the house to the square. Once there, I wait around until Vernon arrives. Vernon is tall, muscular, and blond with light gray eyes. We're both the class clowns, even though Vernon gets better grades than me.

We shake hands before stepping into the short line for registration.

"You going to volunteer?" Vernon asks me as we enter our section.

"Are you kidding?" I laugh. "I bet you're the only boy in District 5 who is training."

"I know," he grins. Then the escort stands and walks steadily to the microphone. Her name is Bybelia and for the last two years she has been the escort of our district. Not a very good one, also, because for the last two years all of the District 5 tributes have died in the bloodbath. I zone out at the stage until she picks the girl tribute, someone who I vaguely recognize from somewhere.

"Now for the boys!" she exclaims. Then she walks over to the bowl and selects a name at the very she returns and reads it aloud.

"Aspen Orris!"

Oh, great! I'm going to die, thanks to the stupid Capitol! Vernon is grinning and holding out his hand for a high five, but I push his hand away and walk up to the stage furiously with my arms crossed over my chest. Oh, I'll win all right. And I will get my revenge on the Capitol.

**Author's Note: Okay, I don't really have anything to say except thanks for reading! I'll try to finish the District 6 Reapings as soon as possible. Sorry this took a little bit longer than usual. Please review and PM me if you have any ideas for the games!**


	7. District 6 Reapings

**Penelipe Hartford's Reaping**

"Wake up," coos a soft voice. Drowsily I hold up my hand and bat some imaginary being away.

"One more minute, Mom," I say sleepily.

"Wakie uppy, dearie," says the voice again. I open my eyes only to see Frank's face millimeters from mine, his huge eyes staring through me.

"Ahhhh!" I scream and knock my head against the wall. Frank laughs and nearly prances out of the room. He's 20, but still as immature as a teenage boy. I wonder if he'll ever grow up.

Sighing, I rub my head and lay back down on the pillow for a moment. Frank is my older brother whose favorite hobby is playing tricks on others. Not exactly mean ones, but annoying ones. Frank is extremely tall, at least six feet, with bright red hair and freckles. My other brother is 21 and just as immature, but with short blond hair and blue eyes. I guess I'm the only normal child in the family.

I check the clock. Ten. Later than I normally sleep. I change out of my nightgown into a tee-shirt and jeans before stepping walking down the hallway outside. It's warm outside. I grab the water hose and power it on high. My chore everyday for the last six years has been watering the plants. Over the years our garden has completely been covered by vines which block out the sunlight. It's beautiful. I take my time watering the fruits and vegetables. They'll be ripe soon, and we can hand them out to the poor like last time.

After spraying the vegetables, I water the trees and roses which my mother tends daily.

When I'm finished, I spray my face with water to wash away the dirt from the plants and the sweat. It's heating up quickly.

Next, I search around to find any ripe fruits and come up with a large amount of apples and oranges. I store them in a basket to bring to the market later. Then I walk back into the house and take a freezing cold shower. Nothing else is as refreshing. When I emerge, it has been at least an hour since I began watering the plants. Quickly I change into my normal black and white reaping dress. The black symbolizes the death and the sadness we districts have to go through. But we're nothing compared to the Capitol.

After I've changed, I skip downstairs where Mom, Dad, and my two brothers are waiting. Mom smiles as she hands me a tart-flavored biscuit on a plate. Delicious.

"So," she says, eying the basket of fruits on the counter. "Are you taking that to the market today?" I grin. The market is where practically all of the beggars in District 6 live. Occasionally I walk over with a basket of fruits and vegetables and let them dig in. Any extras goes to the local flea market just two blocks over.

"I hope so," I reply. "If I have enough time. I wanted to meet Kait at the plaza a little before two, so I should leave soon."

"While you're there," Dad says, his eyes sparkling like they normally are. "Pick up some corn for tonight's dinner. We'll have some with dinner to celebrate you not getting reaped again!" Then he picks me up like he did when I was a child and swings me around the room. I'm too young for that, but I laugh anyways.

"Dad, stop!" I grin. "I'm fourteen now, you don't have to treat me like this!" He smiles and sets me down. "Also," I continue, "I don't even know if I'm going to get reaped or not. It could happen." The smile fades off his face and for a moment he just looks at me.

"Better go get that corn," he finally says. Sighing, I grab some coins and the basket of fruit and walk down to the market. In only a few minutes I have arrived. Immediately, Bone, the old woman who I am friends with here, approaches me.

"What did you bring me?" she says lightly in her joking voice. I don't come here often, but whenever I do I save something for Bone.

Laughing, I hand her some oranges before saying farewell and walking up to a group of homeless stragglers.

"Anyone hungry?" I chirp as I set the food down. Instantly grateful hands reach out and take an apple or orange or two while thanking me. I love that feeling I get whenever I help someone in need.

None of the fruits remain, so I head to the flea market only to buy some corn for today's supper. I hand the man there the coins and set off.

On my way home I manage to run into Kait, my one and only true friend. She's somewhat short with amber eyes and beautiful golden brown hair. Generally she's quiet, unless angered. Then she's fierce and yelling, it's kind of an awful sight. She might have a chance of winning the games if she was reaped, but she won't be. Just like I won't be. Hopefully.

"Hiya, Nel!" Kait exclaims as she sees me. Only she is allowed to call me by that nickname. "What are you up to? Donating to the poor again? You're such a goodie-two shoes!"

I laugh. "Want to help me with this?" I ask as I dump some corn into her outstretched arms.

"I guess now I don't have a choice," she grumbles as she helps me carry it home.

Mom and Dad both love Kait. She doesn't cause trouble or get bad grades and she's not a snob. A lot like me. Sometimes I do have the reputation of being too smart or too perfect, because I guess I'm nice and great in all subjects.

A few minutes later we reach home. Mom and dad are outside watering the lawn. The smile at us when we near them.

"Hello, Kait," says Mom. "How long are you going to stay with us?"

"Just until the reaping, I guess," Kait responds. We're practically sisters because her parents don't care for her and are always sneaking away. Mom always feels bad for her, so she allowed over almost any time she wants.

For a while we just look at some magazines and talk about school and teachers. All of our teachers admire us because we have such great grades.

At one thirty we put on a little make-up and mascara and head outside into the sun. Mom and Dad are sitting on lawn chairs and chatting.

"Good luck Penelipe," Dad says. "And you too, Kait."

We head to the square and the registration woman pricks our fingers. I suck on the red mark as we head to the fourteen year old section with the other girls. We all exchange nods and turn our attention to the stage. The escort, Monotony, is standing and walking over to the microphone. She is wearing a hideous bright purple dress and pink stockings. Her shoes are a disgusting orange and yellow mix, and her puffy white wig is tangled and falling over her eyes. Traced lightly on her cheek is a small tattoo of the Capitol seal.

"Welcome, welcome!" she squeaks loudly. She's not as much as an airhead as some of the other escorts, but still not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. "Let's begin as usual with the history of Panem. Two hundred and twenty-five years ago, Panem was a place called North America, a land roaring with wars..." She continues her long speech in her usual gushing voice. Finally, after at least ten minutes, she concludes, "...creating another period of peace for Panem."

Monotony clears her throat. "Now," she says matter of factly, "it is time to reap the girls." She heads over to the glass jar and picks a name and zooms back to the microphone. As clearly as she can, Monotony states the name.

"Penelipe Hartford!"

There's a small sigh of relief from the crowd. A quiet one, but it still reaches my ears. Everyone is glad it is someone they hardly know, who they won't miss much.

"No!" Kait cries, her voice filling the empty plaza. "Not her!" I glance at her, as if to ask if she will volunteer. Crying now, she shakes her head and sinks to the ground.

Now I'm crying. Because I know I'll die first, be a bloodbath. I have no skills.

Sobbing, I clutch my stomach and with my head bowed, I make my way to the stage. Kait is staring at me with her soft, sad eyes, saying goodbye to me forever.

**Caspian Robin's Reaping**

At nine o'clock I wake up, an hour later than usual. Oh well, I guess it's a special occasion so it doesn't really matter. I stand silently, making sure not to wake Brook, Raine and Pythor who are sleeping on the other end of the bed. I carefully step over Mom, who is sleeping on a quilt on the floor. I grab some money and exit the small shack.

Our shack is located at the very edge of District 6. Mom built it herself using timber and tin for the roof. There's no heat or running water, so summers are unbearably hot and the winters chill us to the bone.

I push through the small thin curtain which is our door and make my way into town. District 6 is the largest district, even bigger than 7 and 11. It takes almost half an hour but at a steady pace I reach the town market, where the dying old men and women stay who can't afford shelter. Quietly I make my way over to a woman with a cart selling lemons and limes. I pretend to view the fruits for a moment.

"How much are these?" I ask, pointing to a lemon. I can't afford any, obviously, but maybe I could steal some...

"One dollar," she says. I certainly didn't bring enough. I thank her, and when she has her back turned for a moment I steal a lemon and walk away quickly before she can notice. Hopefully it will spice up tonight's dinner of roots and berries.

I continue to a different stall and purchase some beans, but sneak some extra in my pocket. Then I steal a warm croissant and some cheese from the local bakery and seat myself on the curb as I chew part of the cheese. At home the only reason why we haven't starved is because of the tesserae I take. Since I was twelve, six years ago, I have been taking tesserae for all of my family members, so my name is in there about forty times. It doesn't matter as long as I don't get reaped. If I do, then Brook will have to take tesserae and she'd only be thirteen.

Brook is tall with flowing brown hair and golden eyes like my mother's. She's clever and probably the smartest in her class. She's also popular, but she isn't similar to most of the other popular girls who gossip all day long and curl their hair in an attempt to make themselves attractive for boys.

My brother Pythor is ten years old, and he is still smart although he only has one friend. His small round glasses cover his eyes and make him look like he is owl. He has short dark brown hair and brown eyes. I'm not sure why, but he has olive skin which doesn't really fit most of the people in District 6. His friend, Jerald, is the richest in town and his generous parents are always letting him bring home some food and money whenever he visits. Usually Pythor is sitting quietly when he is at home just reading or doing something intellectual.

My smallest sibling is Raine. She is only four years old and already becoming very clever. Raine isn't exactly greedy, but when she sits after school waiting for mom to come walk her home, she pretends to be a lost beggar and often times people give her some money. If you ignore that, she is the most innocent person I know, and very giggly.

And then there is my mother and father. Mom cares about all of us, no matter what the circumstances are. She has hazel brown hair often tied up in a bun and spends her time cooking for the next meal. Dad is a horrible man. We hardly ever see him, because he's almost always out spending our valuable money in order to get drunk. He never wanted to have kids. When he is home, Dad's usually beating us with a horrible wooden paddle. Even Raine and Mom.

I walk home swiftly and arrive in only twenty minutes. Mom is awake and cooking some of our tesserae grain for breakfast. Raine is jumping on the only bed in the shack while Brook tickles her stomach. Pythor is at the small rickety table, working on some kind of math equation even I can't solve.

"Here you go," Mom says quietly as she serves me a plate of food.

"No thanks," I reply. "I had some cheese for breakfast. By the way, look what I bought." I hand over the lemons, beans, and the croissant. Her eyes widen with happiness.

"Oh, Caspian! Thank you! This will be a great supper... I'm surprised you could afford this."

"Right..." I say and look away, pretending to be interested in Raine jumping on the bed.

After Mom has finished eating, everyone pulls on their shoes and exits the house, Raine on Mom's shoulders. It usually doesn't take _that_ long to reach the plaza, but with Mom carrying Raine we reach it in forty minutes. Mom, Raine, and Pythor stand out at the edge of the square while Brook and I get in like for registration. She immediately begins chattering away with the girl in front of her who I don't recognize.

When I reach my section, I spot Heath and walk over. He has somewhat long blond hair for a boy, and blue eyes. I stand next to him and grin.

"Hey," Heath says. Normally he has a vibrant and humorous personality, but not today. Not on Reaping Day. "I have something for your family. Here." He hands me a small gold coin. "You'll be able to trade this for alot of money in the market."

"Thank you," I say, the coin sitting in the palm of my hand. Heath lives on the richest side of District 6 so he probably has tons of these. Then the escort, Monotony, stands and walks over to the microphone, tapping it quickly.

Heath and I ignore what she says as we talk silently about the Capitol. After a very long time, she finally says, "ladies first!" I have no idea who the reaped girl is. And now she's picking the boy tribute.

"Caspian Robin!"

Heath stares at me. I just gasp and bite my lip to keep myself from crying out. How will Brook and Pythor and Raine survive now? With no money? Silently, with a stony expression, I walk up to the front of the stage and cross my arms over my chest. Monotony asks us to shake hands, but I don't. My arms remain over my chest. I can see Raine poking a blade of grass with a stick, unaware of what is going on. Mom has a pained expression on her face, and Brook is choking back sobs from the audience.

Maybe I can win. I'm strong. But then there is the Careers. No, I'll never win. I don't even have a chance.

**Author's Note: I agree, these reapings are probably the most boring I have ever written. I will try to write District 7 soon, and hopefully that will be more interesting. Also, I noticed on the prologue page I wrote that people ages 12-16 are reaped, even though it is obviously children 12-18. Sorry for the mistake and please review!**


	8. District 7 Reapings

**Linnea Ignious' Reaping**

A loud scream cuts through the air like a knife. Immediately it is followed by another small shriek and a loud moan. Groaning, I stand and stretch. There's no light in the sky. Quickly I pull on my clothes and rush downstairs with a set of pills. Loudly I stamp down the stairs and appear next to Mother's bed. She's staring off into space and holding onto the edges of the bed so tightly her hands have turned white. Mother's graying blond hair is untidy and lying in tangled heaps. Her eyes portray her tremendous fear.

"Mother," I coo quietly. "Mother, it's all right. It's all right. You're okay. Uma is okay. Everything is fine."For a moment she looks all better. Maybe even happy. But suddenly her eyes are showing even more terror and I can't pry her hands off the side of the bed.

Sighing, I rush to the kitchen and fill a beaker with water, then return and grab a small white pill which I place on the bed. Quickly, I pull Mother's mouth open and shove the pill inside. In a moment I have poured the water from the beaker into her gaping mouth. For a second she chokes, then swallows the pill. Immediately the pill does its work and she calms down.

"Shhh..." I murmur. "It's all right." Gently I take remove her hands from the side of the bed and massage them until her fingers unclench and return to her side. I move to the other side of the bed and untangle her hair gingerly until she falls asleep again. Steadily I place the beaker back on the kitchen counter and make my way back upstairs to my room.

Every few nights, Mother wakes up with a horrible nightmare of Uma in the is my older sister. Actually, she was. She lived past the bloodbath but was killed by the boy from District 5.

Ever since then I have been rooting for the new District 5 boy tribute to die some horrible, death. The most terrible part is, that District 5 boy ended up winning the games and is now mentoring the new tributes every year. Usually they die in the bloodbath though, which is kind of nice.

When Uma died, I was only seven years old. When she was tortured in the games, Mother went beserk. It was a nightmare. She ran around the town screaming her lungs out and breaking into houses, stealing peoples' television sets. The police found her in the empty library, dumping books into the paper shredder. For a year she was kept in an asylum before getting let go again. Usually she's fine, but it always feels as if she is in some kind of trance some of the time. Occasionally she wakes up feeling better than the world. Other times she wakes in the middle of the night screaming for Uma to come home. Uma never comes home, though.

The sad part is, at the time I thought the games were fun and Uma was acting in some kind of horror movie. It wasn't until afterwards when I learned.

I climb back up the stairs and step into bed. Father is working the night shift at the clinic, so he couldn't deal with Mother. Usually he's home, but I still know the drill for whenever she wakes up screaming.

I pull the blanket over my head and wait for sunrise. For a while I just toss and turn, but I can't sleep. After about an hour I stand and make my way to the bathroom where I comb back my long dirty blond hair and brush my teeth. Afterwards I step downstairs and out the door. My feet lead me to the small shed where I grab my small axe and swing it over my shoulder before setting off out of town.

In a few minutes I have reached a large gate which can be opened with a small brass key. It leads to a huge forest filled with towering trees and teeming with animal life. Well, at least no dangerous animals. An electrical fence surrounds the area because it is visited so often by adult men and women who chop down trees as their living.

I've been cutting trees as far as I can remember, but not as a job until Mother went crazy and had to leave her job as a psychiatrist, which I find quite ronic. We didn't have enough money coming in, so Father started working the night shift and I began my work as a lumberjack.

I set off on a small dirt path, cutting through the trees until I've reached the other side of the electric fence. There I begin with a large oak tree, first stabbing away the bark, then digging the axe deep into the base of the trunk and beginning to chop. Approximately it takes me a week to finish one tree if I have someone helping me. Generally my friend Melanie is always here, but I told her yesterday not to bother since it is Reaping anyway. Might as well sleep in while you can.

For a few hours I hack away at the tree. At dawn I sit down for a break and watch the sun rise over the horizon. It's so beautiful. A few miles out of District 7 is a large, salty ocean that is freezing all year round. Once in our geography lesson, our teacher let it slip that District 7 was the location of some place called Spokane Valley before the rising ocean washed over the lands.

I dig into my navy blue jacket pocket and pull out a small granola bar from yesterday. After chewing on it for a few minutes, I walk over to a nearby apple tree and pick off a few to eat while I eat. At eight AM, I am exhausted and I have barely cut a fifth of the tree. Well, the trees are monstrously large here.

I rest for another few minutes and then fill my pockets with some more apples before setting off again. In only ten minutes I have reached home. I can see Father is home by his large brown shoes sitting perfectly straight on the porch. Gingerly I open the door in case he is sleeping, but he is up and about cooking some sizzling bacon. Not my favorite, but oh well. Mother is still asleep on her bed.

"Hiya," I say as I dump the apples on the kitchen table. He looks up and smiles at me.

"Did she have any trouble this morning?" he asks me, meaning my mother.

"Yes," I say. "But it wasn't that bad. You don't have to worry so much."

He sighs and serves me some bacon. I pretend to eat it enthusiastically but it doesn't work. Eventually I just tell him I'm going to take a shower and leave. The shower is warmer than usual even though we can't afford hot water. At least we can actually afford water. Many people just have to bathe in the creek.

At nine o'clock I step out of the shower. My mother is sitting up her bed drinking warm tea while Father cleans the dishes. He is only 40 but his hair is graying and he is becoming bald. Maybe from working too hard at the clinic or maybe from stress. Either way it tires him out.

For a while I just lay on my bed, flipping through a book I have to read for school. It's mainly about the history of Panem and why it's so great. Obviously, it is written by a Capitol.

Once it's one o'clock, I dress in a beautiful teal dress that used to be my mother's. She is staying home from the Reapings because she doesn't do so well in crowded spaces. My father is staying home to care for saying goodbye to Father.

I leave the house and make my way to the square. It is very far off and it takes me half an hour to reach. District 7 is one of the bigger districts.

When I reach the square, I immediately spy Melanie sitting on a stone bench looking incredibly bored. Smiling, I wave and dash over. She greets me with a grin and stands. Melanie has long brown hair which flows all the way to her waist. She has dark brown eyes, freckles, and a beautiful smile that brightens up any day. She's on the poor side of District 7, but my family doesn't even have enough to help her.

The reaping won't start for at least another half an hour, so for a while we just sit on the bench chatting and laughing. When it is fifteen minutes before two, we stand and get in line for registration. A small girl in front of me cries when she has her finger pricked and stands there, uncertain what to do. A peacekeeper angrily shoves her away. Once my finger is pricked, I walk over to her and guide her to her section. She smiles gratefully before walking Melanie and I enter our section, it is only a few minutes before the escort, Lyvania arrives.

She is naive, idiotic, and extremely annoying. Her neon green hair is in tangled heaps and every inch of her skin is dyed a disgusting ivory color, which is considered fashionable in the Capitol."Welcome!" she giggles loudly. "It's such an honor to be representing District 10 as the escort!" I roll my eyes. She can't even tell what district she's in, even with all the trees?

"What an exciting day!" she says. "I think it's time to choose the girl tribute! How fun!" Lyvania skips over to the bowl, but trips in her high heels and crashes into the bowl. It falls off the stage and smashes into a million pieces, sending glass flying everywhere. The names scatter in the wind and blow into the distant trees.

"Oopsies!" she giggles. "I think I just knocked over the bowl!" Sometimes I wonder if she's sane.

"Well, I think I should choose a name!" she announces. Carefully she walks down the stage steps and over to the pile of names that had fallen out of the bowl. Lyvania grabs a name from the pile and climbs back onstage to the microphone.

"Well, this is fun!" she chirps. I roll my eyes at Melanie and she snickers.

"Now!" Lyvania says. "Our lucky tribute is..." she pauses for a moment.

"Whoopsies!" she chortles. "I guess I forgot my glasses! I can't see a thing!" I suppress a sigh. The audience is getting impatient. "Would someone please fetch me my glasses?" she calls back to the guards. One shakes his head, annoyed.

"Oh, well, then!" Lyvania says. "Maybe I should squint my eyes! Let's see, our tribute is... I think that says... Largia Argacious!" The audience doesn't move. "Is that not right? Let me try again! Lenmia Angelica!" Still no response. "Maybe reading it upside down would help..." she muses.

Suddenly the mayor, an old man with graying hair, steps forward and pushes her aside. "Let me read it," he snaps and grabs the slip of paper. Lyvania steps to the side angrily. "Linnea Ignious!"

No! No! The humor that was in the air earlier has disappeared. Everyone is staring at me. Without any emotion, I slowly walk to the front. You could be able to hear a pin drop everything is so silent.

"What's your name?" she says cheerfully.

"Linnea," I mutter. Didn't she just hear my name fourteen seconds ago?

"Well, Linnea, it's great to meet you. I wish you luck in the games! Now, let's have some more fun and choose our boy tribute now!" I can't recall anything after this. I'm just thinking about Mother and Father, at home, unaware of my certain death that will occur very soon.

**Alexander Stoneshade's Reaping**

I shift around uncomfortably in my sleeping bag and pull the pillow over my face. A small wind is picking up, and annoyed, I attempt to dig my head under the sleeping bag, although it is too small and I can not fit all the way. Sighing, I shove my pillow on top of my head and sit there, moving in and out of consciousness.

When I finally wake up for good it must be at least eleven o'clock, which is good. I hardly got any sleep last night. I never do when I'm forced to sleep in the , I stand up and stretch for as long as I can. It feels amazing on my tight muscles. Drowsily, I wrap up my sleeping bag with the pillow and slowly tiptoe from back behind the old shed to the front of the house.

Carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible, I peek in the front window. Mom is sleeping soundly on the couch. But where is Dad?Suddenly the door opens and he's standing there. He is a huge man with a scraggly beard and messy brown hair. His animal-like eyes shine ferociously at me. In his hand is an empty beer bottle. That's what I thought. He's drunk again.

"What're you doing here?" he grumbles angrily while leaning against the moldy wooden house pillar which can hardly bear his weight. "I told you to leave."

"This is my house, too," I reply cautiously. Anything can set him off. Especially when he's drunk.

"Get away!" he shouts. "Get away from my house!"

Silently I slowly back away from him, but in a moment he lunges at me with the glass beer bottle, probably in attempt to kill me. I am knocked off the rotting planks of the porch into a trash can which is ironically full of empty beer bottles. He pounds the pavement furiously with the bottle until it breaks. Then, dizzily, he stands and tries to stab me with the pointed edges of the bottle. I walk away as he slips on a beer can and tumbles into a bush where he vomits.

Then I walk back up the porch and slip into the house. Mom is staring at me, disoriented. This always happens when Dad comes home. He gets drunk and abuses her. I head to the small kitchen and grab a banana to eat for breakfast and return to her room.

By now she has realized that Dad must have come home again. Usually he's gone at some bar getting drunk. Every so often he stumbles into the house in the middle of the night with a hangover and collapses on the bed, dead to the world. Whenever this happens I just camp out behind the old tin shed in the backyard until he's Dad's always gone, Mom has to pay for us by working twelve hour shifts at the local pharmacy where she earns little to no money. It's sad. Sometimes I help her out by working at the thrift shop in the main plaza, but I don't earn much money from that.

I place the pillow and sleeping bag next to the small cot in my room, and then I sit down and peel the banana. In a few minutes Mom won't be so out of it and she'll lock the doors so Dad can't get in the house again...

I unlatch my window and step out onto the ground. Then I hurry to the backyard. I pass Dad and he is still lying face-down in the bush. Once in the backyard, I light a fire under a huge wooden bath so I can clean myself off before the reapings.

Our backyard is huge, nothing like the small dainty house, filled with trees, ponds and even a little creek. After a bath, I go back into the house and change into a clean tuxedo which is way too small for me.

"Hello," Mom says when I walk into the house. She is smiling sadly as she boils a pot of broth on the stove. "All dressed for the reapings?"

I cut to the point. "Just call the police on him, Mom," I say. "He's already hurt you enough." She shudders and is about to speak again when I say, "Mom. I'm eighteen years old now. You don't have to hide things from me."

Wistfully, she turns her head back to stirring the broth and I head upstairs to a small dusty loft area covered in comfortable cushions. I lay down on one and close my eyes. For a while I just lay there relaxing, until Mom is stepping up the steps and telling me I should head to the square now.

"Okay," I sigh and pull on some shiny black shoes and a jacket. Mom and I exit the house and walk silently to the square.

Finally, I say, "Mom, why do you even put up with him? He spends all your money and doesn't have any respect. You know he doesn't care about you."

Mom inhales loudly. I glance at her and see she is trying to ignore my words. Well, that won't work. it already isn't working. A tear drips down her face.

"It's not that big of a deal!" I persist. "Just call the sheriff, or even the peacekeepers on him. He won't bother him again." She's still silent. I sigh. Is it impossible to reach her? It sure doesn't look like I can. For a few minutes we walk in silence.

Then I try again."Can you at least lock the door at night so he can't get in?" Nothing.

"Fine," I finally respond. "Do what you want. But if you want to be happy instead of being miserable, just call the-"

"I won't!" she says suddenly. She halts, and so do I. "You don't know what it feels like." She has stopped, and is staring off into the distance. "You don't know how it feels to love someone so deeply."

I stare at her, aghast. "You don't still love him, do you? After everything that has happened?"

Mom still has her eyes fixed on the distant hills. "I don't know," she finally manages. "I remember when I first met him..." she stares away in a dreamy stance and I roll my eyes.

I wait a minute and then shout, "Mom!"Her eyes clear and she starts moving again.

"The point is," she continues briskly. "I can't have your father arrested now. We had so many nice memories..." Before I have time to question her more, we have reached the square and I spot my only friend, Daniel.

"Well, see you after the Reaping then," I tell her and then head off. Daniel grins and waves at me from the line. I step in with him and for a while we talk about the escort, who is so annoying it is impossible to like her, let alone enjoy her company.

Daniel has short red hair, freckles and a pointed nose. He's also somewhat a geek, but the class clown for sure. He has about fifteen friends, but I'm the best of his.

I sigh as the registration woman pricks my finger. Do they really need my blood to recognize who I am? The reapings is supposed to be a fun event, but it's so serious.

We wait in our sections for about half an hour before the escort steps up. I was nervous earlier, but it disappears as she makes a fool of herself in front of the entire nation. First she knocks over the bowl of names and it crashes on the ground. Then she can't even read the names on the slips. Now, the mayor is reaping the girl tribute because Lyvania is too idiotic to do so.

The girl is someone who I have seen vaguely at school, but can't recall.

"And now," says Lyvania, angrily pushing aside the mayor. "I will choose the boy tribute!" Angrily she marches over to the bowl and pulls out a name, making sure not even to touch the edges of the bowl. Then she stomps back to the microphone and unfolds the slip of squints her eyes and puts the paper right in front of her face. Then she laughs.

"What kind of a name is this?" she trifles. "Stoneshade! What kind of a name is that?" It takes me a moment to realize that this is me. She hasn't said my name yet, but Stoneshade? My last name? It's obviously me. Sadly I step forward and walk up to the stage, each step seeming to take a million years. I reach the top of the stairs. Lyvania is staring at me.

"What are you doing here?" she snaps. "I didn't read out the boy tribute yet! Go back to your spot!" Annoyed and somewhat embarrassed, I climb back down the steps and exit to my section.

"Now!" she trills. "I'll read the name! Alexander Stoneshade!" Slowly I make my way back up to the stage. My face shows no expression besides sadness."Well, here are the District 7 tributes!" she announces loudly. "Largia Argacious and Xander Stemshine! Shake hands, you two."

After shaking hands I stare at Mom. She is sobbing uncontrollably from her section and nothing will make her stop. Not the comfort from others in the least when I die, I won't have to return to Dad and the rest of District 7.

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading! So far who is your favorite tribute? Review and PM me! My goal is to have all of the reapings completed by the end of summer, which won't be too hard. I'm not sure how long it will take to finish the whole fanfic. Maybe by the end of the year? I'm not sure. Over and out.**


	9. District 8 Reapings

**Attention: I need three boy tributes from districts 11, 12, and 13. Details in the Author's Note below.**

**Camelia Maplewood's Reaping**

The glinting sun rays spray sunshine through the open window and spill light on my pale face. It's already morning? I want to stay here forever... The sound of birds chirping outside, water bubbling in the nearby spring, and and the warm sun. These drowsy moments are what I cherish most in life. No need to worry, be sad, or get annoyed at something. Everything is just perfect.

In the distance, a car horn sounds. It's probably the mayor... He's most likely the only one in District 8 who can afford to buy a car. Even a wheelbarrow is luxury here.

For a few minutes more I lay still, letting the strands of my stringy brown hair fall over my face and tickle my nose. Then my alarm goes off.

Annoyed, I roll over on my back and slam my fist on the alarm clock until it unplugs and crashes to the floor. Then I brush my blankets off me and stretch, loosening up my muscles for the day ahead of me. Smiling faintly, I step into my worn slippers and walk to the window. It opens with a screech and I glance at the district below me.

The spring that I had heard is just a leaky hydrant. The birds are just the leaves rustling on the black pavement.

The awful smell of air immediately hits my nose. Our family lives in the exact center of District 8, and it's the most urban district. Filled to the brim with stinking fumes, large block apartment complexes and huge sewing factories, it is just plain awful. If I had a choice, I'd live in District 7 or 11. Those districts have the most vegetation. In my entire life, I have literally seen no more than five trees.

I close the window and make my small bed quietly. My bed is just an old mattress with some tattered quilts to keep us warm. Even in June, it is still cold here.

Once I finish making my bed, I exit my room which is no bigger than a walk-in closet. Outside my room, my brother, Lupin, is slicing up a mango for today's breakfast. He looks up and grimaces at me.

Lupin is ten years old, with pale green eyes like mine and short tangled hair. He is tall for his age and very smart. Unfortunately, he is considered a nerd somewhat, so he doesn't have very many friends. Even so, he is polite, silent, and doesn't let anything get in his way.

When Lupin is finished cutting the mango, he serves me half and immediately chows down his share. We hardly have enough to eat here. My mother died when I was five years old, so mad with grief, my father spent less time at home and more time drinking. I rarely ever see him anymore. In a way, I feel bad for my father. He just loved my mother too much. But I do blame him for never taking care of Lupin and I.

I eat the mango slowly, trying to savor the taste. Ripe fruits like these can almost never be afforded. Not even with the money I earn from working shifts at the clothing factory where we stitch together fabrics which are cheaply sold in stores at the plaza. Nearly all of my time is spent at the factory. Somehow I manage to get good grades in school even though I am absent half of the time.

Lupin stands and walks over to the sink where he carefully washes the dishes. It's his day to work on chores.

Our house- well, living space, is a tiny condominium which doesn't even have one bedroom. Lupin sleeps on the couch in front of a rusty television that hardly ever works. The refrigerator is filled with our personal belongings, because we can't afford the electricity it takes. Our cupboards are full of tesserae which I take for my brother and father, even though I haven't seen my father in weeks now. All together I have my name in there twelve times. Which isn't that much compared to the other people I know. One girl in my school has nine siblings and takes tesserae for all of them. Last year her older sister was reaped to be in the games and she was the first one dead.

Sighing, I lay my head down on the table and rest. I have an eight hour shift at the factory, plus school, so I have literally only a few hours to sleep. Oh, well. As long as Lupin and I have enough to eat, I'll be okay. Lupin has a job somewhat, by selling apples and oranges at a market down the street. It doesn't bring in much money, but we're appreciative about what we can get. We never complain.

Once Lupin is finished with the dishes, he sits next to me and brushes my hair with a sandstone comb. I never bother with brushing my hair and looking pretty. It has never helped with feeding Lupin or getting wages at the factory. That's why so many others consider me unattractive. My hair is always tangled and scrawny when I enter school and my clothes are ragged pieces of cloth sewed together.

After a few minutes Lupin stops combing my hair and I drearily stand and walk to the bathroom.

"What time is it?" I ask my brother before I open the door.

Lupin glances at the clock. "You have two hours 'till the reapings," he says. I nod and fill a basin with hot water for a bath. For the first time in months I allow myself to look beautiful. If I'm reaped, I want to be able to get sponsors. That's why hideous people rarely win nowadays.

After my bath I apply some eyeshadow and makeup. Then I tie my hair into a long braid and walk to my closet. Because of lack of room, hanging above my bed are my clothes strung from a short wire. I select a plain green dress which my mother wore once.

Suddenly, as I step to the kitchen, there is a loud knock at the door. Quickly I open it, afraid to see peacekeepers. Instead, it's my father.

There's something about his bedraggled look that makes me wonder if he's been living in a dumpster. But before I have the chance to speak or even move, he collapses onto the floor. Well, he's been drinking again.

"Lupin," I call. "Can father use your bed?"

Lupin enters with an annoyed look as he stares at father. Together we drag him to the living room onto Lupin's bed and pull off his torn sweater and dump it into a bin to wash. This is a once-a-month tradition whenever he comes home, drunk. Really, we need a lock on the door. Lupin dresses in a small suit and together we exit the apartment and head to the square. Before we're even halfway there, I hear a shout of recognition and see Easton running towards me. We're both fourteen and he's my best and only friend.

We look nothing alike. Easton is tall and built with large square shoulders. He has blond hair and deep blue eyes. His father owns the local bookstore, in an old run-down building housed at the edge of the district.

"Happy Hunger Games!" he exclaims jokingly. Easton is never one of be afraid. Not of the peacekeepers, not of the reapings, not of anything. My guess is that if he were reaped he could win, because he's strong, friendly and would easily join the careers' group. Easton's also very smart, but doesn't earn as good grades as I do. He'd probably end up poisoning the careers and winning for something like that.

I grimace at him. For Lupin and I, The Hunger Games is not something to be joked about. It's something to hide from, and something to pretend isn't real. Joking just makes it worse, because it makes the games seem humorous and exciting. Which they aren't, and never will unless the gamemakers themselves are dumped into the arena to kill each other.

"Hi," I say warily. Lupin spots one of his friends and runs off with a quick, "good luck."

"Why do you always have to make the games seem like a joke?" I say irritably, once Lupin is out of earshot. "It's bad enough having to watch kids kill each other.

Easton glares at me. "Would you rather be scared half to death?" he snaps, annoyed.

I shake my head as we enter the square. It's already almost full. Neither of us say anything as our finger is pricked and we head to our stations. "Well, good luck," he says and I enter the sixteen year old girl section.

Most of the other girls present are the prissy popular ones obsessed with fashion and boys. I have never been like them, and never will. Ever. They all ignore me, as usual, which is perfectly fine with me. I certainly don't want to fall under their influence.

For the next twenty minutes I switch between standing awkwardly and exchanging nervous glances with Easton from his section. Finally, Crystalline, this year's escort, hops up from her seat on the stage and prances over to the small microphone.

"Welcome, welcome," she says, excited. "Now, before we choose our lucky tributes, let us begin years ago, when Panem had not yet existed. Everything existed in chaos, and no one was safe..."

After about twenty minutes of droning on about the games, she finally stops. "Now," Crystalline announces clearly as she pronounces every syllable perfectly in her annoying Capitol accent. "It is time to choose our tributes. As usual, the ladies will be chosen first."

As if to make the tension last longer, Crystalline takes her time walking to the glass jar. Her black hair sparkles against the sunlight. Small flakes of glitter fly off her delicate, pale face and drop onto the stage. A bee buzzes by my ear. All I can hear is my own heart pounding, and now, she has a slip and is walking back.

Once again the escort takes her time unwrapping the slip of paper. I imagine Lupin, staring at the screen nervously. Finally she takes in a breath and clears her throat.

"Camelia Maplewood! Come on up, you lucky girl!"

My heart freezes. There's no chance I can win this. None at all. I turn my head. All of the popular girls are staring at me, disgusted. My head swivels the other way. Easton is looking aghast and terrified. Slowly, silently, I walk to the front and carefully step up the stairs. All I can feel is shock. No sadness, no fear, no anger at the Capitol for doing this to us.

Somehow, once I'm onstage, my eyes lock with Lupin. He is full of fear. There is no chance he can live alone. Especially with a drunkard dad. He'll starve or become beggar...

This is the end of both of us.

**Harold Tribune's Reaping**

"Harold! Wake up and walk the dog! Get up! It's past eleven!" My father's voice scolds me from the window. Grumbling to myself, I open my eyes and allow myself a moment of rest before I stretch and put on my glasses. Then I glance out the window

Dad is watering the immense lawn and Harry is reading a book at the picnic table. Lola, our one year old puppy, is chasing the water house and wagging her tail enthusiastically.

Yawning, I quickly change into clean clothes and hurry downstairs. As I open the back door and step outside, Lola crashes into me as she attempts to eat a lightning bug which is circling her head as if to tease her. Laughing, I hug her and she climbs on my back as she tries to gobble down the bug. Suddenly a shoot of water sprays my back, completely soaking me. I look up. It's Harry, laughing at me with the water hose. Grinning, I run at him and yank away the hose as I spray his face. Giggling and soaking wet, Harry runs away but I catch him and spray his back with the water. Lola then attacks him in an attempt to eat the stream of water.

"Are you two going to take the dog on a walk or not?" comes a voice from above. Dad is leaning out his window and smiling down at us.

"Why don't you dry off?" I tell Harry and then set off with Lola on a leash. My life in District 8 is perfect. We live in the outskirts of town, where there's less factories and more greenery. The apartment complexes turn into ordinary two story houses. Usually the people in this neighborhood are rich merchants, like my dad. My mom, however, died in an accident when I was ten years old. It was awful.

Lola bites on a bright orange leaf from the sidewalk and keeps it in his mouth as if it is some kind of prize. I smile to myself as I continue walking down the street.

A few minutes later I pass my friend Charlie's house. I have tens of friends at school; I'm one of the more popular people. My grades are good enough that I'm considered smart, but I'm not nearly as bright as the other kids in my classes.

A bug flits past my face and I brush away my dark brown hair which matched my mothers. My eyes are hazel colored, and I am tall and athletic. I guess I could be a high contender in the games if I were to be reaped, but I don't even have to worry about that. My family is too rich for me to need to take tesserae. At fifteen years old my name is in the glass bowl only four times.

After ten more minutes I reach home again. Lola spits out the orange leaf in her mouth and licks my face as I untie her from the leash. Then she bounds into the house wagging her tail. Everything Lola does is just so... obnoxiously happy. Maybe that's why Harry likes her more.

At the moment Harry is sitting by the counter eating some cereal. I walk past him and up the stairs to my bathroom, where I take a short and hot shower. As I step out, I change into a horribly stiff and uncomfortable tuxedo which I wear every year to the reapings. I absolutely despise fancy clothes, but hey, at least we can afford them.

I glance at the clock on the wall. It's 12:45 now, so I should leave in about a half hour. That will give me plenty of time. Quickly I comb my hair back and put on some cologne. Then I head downstairs for breakfast.

Dad is sitting next to Harry at the table. Harry has short brown hair and gray eyes. He's not very smart for his age, but he's popular at least. Harry is short and very funny, like me.

I sit down and serve myself a bowl of cereal for breakfast. When I'm finished I jog upstairs and brush my teeth until they're sparkling clean, then grab my gold watch and go to the door.

"I'll see you after the reapings," I tell dad and then exit the house at 1:15 on the dot. It takes about ten minutes to reach the downtown area of District 8. It's not very large, but our house is situated almost at the very edge of the district.

Just as I reach the plaza, I spot Charlie and Veronica. Out of all of my friends, they would have to be the ones I'm closest to. Veronica has long, flowing brown hair which reaches her back, and shining green eyes. She's very tall and possesses pale porcelain skin. Veronica is the smartest kid in our entire class, and is an avid reader. In fact, I think Veronica is my only friend who is a girl.

Charlie is the complete opposite. He is tan, with brown eyes and dirty blond hair. He is tall, strong, and rough. Charlie enjoys sports like I do, but isn't nearly as smart. Well, he's clever, but never even tries to learn anything at school.

I have been friends with both Charlie and Veronica since the second grade.

Veronica dashes over and Charlie follows. "I hate this!" she exclaims. "It's all so nerve wracking! But we obviously won't get reaped. It will probably be that poor Georgia girl who lives in that orphanage... Oh well, I never liked her anyway."

"I think the boy will be that pre-teen beggar who always comes by our house," says Charlie. "I feel for him. But if I get reaped, I think I'd last a while in the games."

"You would win," Veronica laughs. Suddenly a loud booming trumpet-like bellow erupts from the nearby speakers, signaling time to go to the reaping. The three of us hurry into line and get our fingers pricked.

"See you later," Veronica says and hurries to her correct area. Charlie and I head to the fifteen year old boy section and wait for the reaping to begin. Dad and Harry will probably be on the sidelines of the square by now, waiting. Charlie and I make small talk until Crystalline makes her way to the mic.

Crystalline has a bubbly attitude like most of the other escorts, but it seems as if she isn't completely obsessed with the whole Capitol attire. She's wearing a plain white dress. With her black hair, she almost looks like salt and pepper.

After discussing how the games begin, she chooses the girl, who is a year older then me .

"Now, let's choose a boy to represent District 8," she says calmly. Slowly, Crystalline walks to the glass bowl, grabs a name, and makes her way back to the microphone before reading the name aloud.

"Harold Tribune!"

Silence in the square. Everyone knows who I am. I just stand, stunned. Veronica bursts into tears from across the square and Charlie gives me a huge sympathetic glance.

"Harold Tribune? Where are you?" says Crystalline as she searches the audience.

"Right here," I manage. I give a fake grin and march up to the stage and wave at the audience. At least I won't seem so weak to the Careers.

I don't even dare shoot a glance in my family's direction.

**Author's Note: Yeah, I need three boy tributes from districts 11, 12 and 13. I made almost all of the other tributes myself, except for a few my friends made, so yours will probably be favored. When submitting a tribute, PM me with the information about the tribute. PM me for the format. The most detailed tributes will be chosen. Thanks! And also, sorry for not updating for such a long time. I won't be able to update as often anymore, because summer is coming to an end and I still have a camping trip planned.**


	10. District 9 Reapings

**Carmin Greenwood's Reaping**

My fingers twist the cord of the telephone in my room. It's a terrible, black, glossy machine with static so loud it's nearly impossible to hear anyone on the other line. I wait impatiently as, through the static, I hear simple ringing on the other end. _Really, Bryant? Are you going to answer or not?_ I stand in front of the mirror, glancing at my gorgeous body. Really, it doesn't matter if Bryant doesn't answer or not. I bet there are boys wanting to throw themselves at my feet. I mean, who could blame them? I'm perfect in every way. Tall, with beautiful blond hair dropping to the side of my back. My eyes are as green as the trees, even though we don't have much of that in District 9. Oh, my eyes, they're just so... perfect, glinting in the sunlight. I bet _everyone _in District 9 wants my eyes.

There is still ringing on the other end. Then I hear a voice. It's Bryant. As I'm about to shout at him for making me wait for _thirteen _rings, I realize it's his voicemail. A pre-recorded message stating that he's not there and to please leave a message.

"Hi, Bryant!" I say cheerfully in my girly tone. "I'm calling to say that I don't care that our relationship is over. I never liked you, and only dated you for your looks. By the way, I slept with three of your friends while we were together. What's that guy's name with those _hot_ biceps? Henrick? Well, he's _amazing_ in the bedroom. In fact, he's much better than you. I hate you, Bryant, bye!"

I hang up the phone and sig_h. Why won't Bryant answer?_ I mean, he hasn't answered _once_ since we broke up last month. It's as if he doesn't care about me! Sighing, I glance in the mirror for a few moments as I adjust my sleeveless dress which travels about to my bellybutton. My skirt, barely covering anything, is sliding down my thighs. I pull them up as high as possible so the boys can see. After a few minutes, I pick up the phone again and redial his number. This time it only rings twelve times before he picks up.

"Hello?" Bryant asks.

"How could you not respond to my calls?" I shriek into the phone. "I hate you! I'm glad you dumped me, and you know what? I cheated on you three times! Why haven't you responded. You evil demon! Henrick is forty times better than you in bed!"

"Stop calling me, whore," he snaps at me from the phone. I gasp.

I hear the click on the other line and hear that Bryant has hung up. Screaming in fury, I rip the phone cord from the socket and hurl it at the wall. My aim is bad and the phone ends up crashing through the stain glass window, small pieces of it rebounding at me. _The glass must be attracted to me, like every other boy in this district._

Through the broken window I spy a man dressed in a messy uniform headed out of our front door. By the looks up it, he's drunk. I guess it was another of mom's customers. I _did_ hear a particular amount of moaning last night from her bedroom. I wonder how much he paid her...

I notice that the man is a peacekeeper.

Quickly I leave my room and walk down the hallway to mom's. She is laying on her bed, a dreamy look of intense pleasure still animating her face. I see her hand reaching down into her skirt. She doesn't notice me. I leave the room and trudge downstairs, still furious at Bryant. How could he?

I enter the kitchen and sit by the counter, waiting for Dad to come home and make me breakfast. He doesn't come. And I just keep on sitting there. Finally I stand, furiously kicking the chair over.

"I hate my life!" I scream to the wall. "How am I supposed to make my own breakfast! This whole world is against me!"

After a while of shouting I finally decide to pour myself a bowl of cereal. I do the pouring the milk and cereal fine, but it's not until I do both that I realize I forgot the bowl. If anyone asks, Alie did it. Alie is my thirteen year old sister. Last night she spent with her boyfriend, probably playing around in his room with adult "toys." I'm so proud of Alie, she's going to turn out just like me.

I decide to skip breakfast. My body's too good for that anyways. Maybe Dad's home, but if he is, I don't want to talk to him. He's such a bully to me! Dad is abusive, mean, and calls me a slut! But I'm not, I only did it for the first time when I was nine.

I hear a thump from upstairs and watch as Mom stumbles downstairs to the kitchen. She  
has a giddy look on her face.

"Excited for the Reaping, sweeeeet?" she asks, letting herself fall down on her armchair. She is 39 and works full time as a, well, man-pleaser. She's my role model.

Alie suddenly enters the front door. She's giggling and her boyfriend is holding her hand. She gives him a long kiss, and then he leaves. Then she giggles again and runs to the bathroom to shower off. Her hair is a mess and her clothes are nearly tattered... I bet she had fun last night.

Today is not going well. Mom is out dead so I decide to go upstairs and take a shower. My bathroom was reconstructed so instead of a wall there's a window, so all the boys outside on the main street can see me and desire me. As the peacekeepers parade past my room, I see them turn to me and watch them drool. I press myself against the window and lick my lips until they pass.

After my shower, I get back into my clothes, but decide against wearing a bra so the boys can see everything. Then I brush my pretty, perfect teeth and walk to the kitchen.

"Almost ready for the reaping, Alie?" I ask my sister, who is done with her shower and brushing her hair back.

"Yep!" she says in her bubbly tone and we exit outside. Maybe Mom will wake up and come to the reapings, but Dad will be there. He's one of the men who bets on who's getting reaped. Of course it won't be Alie or me, we're the richest in town.

It takes just a few minutes to reach the square. It is about half filled with children. I see some poor, pathetic looking children glancing nervously at each other. I mock them and send my cherry gum flying at their faces. Then we go to the registration. I glare at the lady who pricks my finger. She shouldn't hurt me, I'm too perfect for that! I send Alie off to her section where she mingles with her friends and then I go to mine. Immediately I spot Jena, my best friend.

"Hi, Jena!" I chirp at her. She glances at me but doesn't respond. "Jena?" I repeat and this time she glares me down.

"What do you want now, Carmin?" she snaps. "You _slept_ with my boyfriend and took a video of what happened. Then you showed it to my friends! You... you backstabbed me! You've cheated on fifteen people in our grade. You backstabbed Grace, and spread a rumor to the whole school. You still think you're my friend? You're such a whore!" She stalks off.

"Fine!" I yell at her. "I don't think you're very nice anymore! I think you've changed!"

For the next fifteen minutes I talk to my friends. Actually, it's not really talking, since I'm harassing them, and they're not really my friends, because I backstabbed them all. But I'm better than them. It's true.

Finally, Malarck, the escort, steps onstage. He's one of the few male escorts, and a generous customer of my mother's. He'll never let me get reaped.

"Welcome to the reaping," he drawls. "First, let me announce my speech on how our incredible nation began, 225 years ago..."

He goes on until finally finishing his speech. "Now then," he says curtly. "Let's choose the tributes. Ladies first, as usual." He heads over to the bowl and picks the first name his hand reaches before returning. Then he reads it aloud.

"Carmin Greenwood!"

Every head turns towards me. I giggle and step forward, adjusting my top so everyone in Panem can see my chest. On my way up to the stage I blow kisses at the crowd and laugh to myself. I am totally famous! Everyone in every district will know me, Carmin Greenwood, the perfect tribute from District 9.

Malarck doesn't seem to recognize me. As he starts to announce that he will then reap the boys, I interrupt him.

"I have something to say!" I announce and take the microphone from him. "Bryant in my district is the biggest jerk, and I hate him!" I shout into the microphone. "He's a bad person and I'm glad that our relationship is over!" In the crowd I see Bryant shaking his head angrily. "You hear me, Bryant!?" I scream. "I hate you!"

Malarck grabs the microphone and suddenly my moment of fame comes to a close.

**Charly Burnet's Reaping**

I awake to the chirping of birds and the rustling of dry leaves on pavement. Slowly my eyes open. The window is open and a nice summer breeze comes drifting through. I forget all of my worries and savor this moment. It's probably only seven in the morning and no one is awake yet. There is nothing that can disturb this utter peace and harmony. Until I remember...

Today's the reaping.

My happiness vanishes. All in one realization. Of course, if I were reaped, who would miss me? Not my mom or dad, and I have no siblings at all. I would just be another kid to come to his death in the bloodbath. I'd be likely to die then. I have no talents, no skills, and I'm only twelve. I would only hope to live until day two or three.

The scent of corn drifts to my room. Ogden's parents must be awake. Ogden is my best friend. He is my age and has red hair with numerous freckles. He's hilarious but sympathetic of my situation. My situation being that my parents abandon me day and night, and I hardly ever see them. So I come here, to Ogden's house. His parents are all that rich, but more wealthy than my parents and they're still generous. Ogden is more like a brother than a friend, and his mom and dad are more like my parents.

I push myself off the bed and pull on my clothes. Cheap ones made from the poor seamstresses downtown. Still, good enough for me.

I walk down the tiny hallway and enter the kitchen. Ogden's mom is preparing corncakes for breakfast. It's what we've always had for breakfast, and always will. His dad works in the local library, an old rundown building with books about Panem. He is pretty old, in his sixties with graying hair. His mom is only 45 with wavy brown hair and a smooth, pretty face.

Ogden's mom smiles at me as I enter. Ogden himself must still be sleeping in his own small room. She hands me a corncake, warm and fresh and delicious. She came from a poor family who owned the local bakery, and has much experience with baking.

I take the cake outside and settle down on the drying grass. The house is on the edge of District 9, the poorest section of the district and only a few hundred yards away from the electric fence. There are no other houses around us, and this shack is located in the center of a field. In the spring time Ogden's family grows corn, but that's long past.

I hear the backdoor closing and watch as Ogden comes out and sits next to me with his corncake. He grimaces slightly and sighs, looking at the rising sun.

"It won't be us," he says, obviously meaning who is getting reaped. "We both only have our names in three times. Some twelve year olds have twice that amount."

I nod. "It won't be us," I repeat him. "It'll be someone who deserves to be in the games. I believe that the world is a fair place and we should all have our chance."

Ogden bites his lip. I know he doesn't believe me, because people in the past from our district have been tortured and beaten in the games and never had a right to die. None of the people in the games deserve to die, except the careers but they always win anyways. In the past 100 years there has been about three District 9 victors. Three. While Districts 1 and 2 and 4 make up half of the victors.

Together we watch the sun slowly rise over the horizon. We sit in silence, both wondering what we would do if the other were reaped and how to survive the bloodbath. There's no use, though. The capitol has complete power over us.

As it becomes close to noon I take a bath in a freezing basin of water and dry off. Then I change into my average clothes. I have no tuxedo nor suit, and I would never buy one for an occasion such as this.

I stare at myself in my old, cracked, handheld mirror. I have mousey brown hair and hazel eyes. I'm short for my age, making me look around ten or eleven. I have a sad expression forever implanted on my face. Maybe it's from neglect as a child or from never having love. Maybe it was because I was left alone at home for days without seeing Mom and Dad before I met Ogden. I hardly know my parents. When was the last time I saw them? Last month? Last season? Last year? I remember as an eight-year-old when my parents first started leaving me. They just couldn't face life. They were alcoholics, but they would never beat me or hurt me. They just... wouldn't care for me so I grew up as a loner. When they came home they slept and hardly said a word. They forgot who I , two years later, I met Ogden. After his parents saw the state of my life I moved in with them. To this day I don't know if my parents know I've been gone.

A single tear drips down my face.

At one o'clock, Ogden and I walk through the field in the direction of the plaza. His mother will be there shortly. This may be the last time I walk on this field, see Ogden's house, trudge to the plaza. Everything could be my last.

Eventually we reach the plaza. I ignore the throbbing pain in my fingertip as the woman pricks my finger with that awful needle of hers.

We make our way to our section and speak quietly. Being a loner, Ogden is my only friend and I'm so quiet it's sometimes as if I don't exist. Well, being nonexistant is better than being hated. I remember one year a harassed girl was so tormented she was led to volunteer for the games and committed suicide as soon as the games began.

After about half an hour, the escort, Malarck, steps up to the microphone. He has slick black hair and a purple tuxedo. His shoes are small and pointed. Malarck gives his annual speech about Panem before choosing the tributes.

The girl tribute was someone I recognize. An eighteen year old girl who backstabbed all her friends and cheated on others. She steals the microphone from the escort and starts babbling about her ex who dumped her. She was an airhead, to put it bluntly.

"Now then," Mallarck says, irritated, after yanking the microphone back from the girl. "Time for the boys." He steps noiselessly to the jar of names and chooses one. Then he returns.

"This year's male tribute," he announces, "Is Charly Burnet!"

My head is spinning. I don't deserve this! I don't! This isn't fair at all! Suddenly my throat chokes with sobs and I walk slowly up the steps with my head bowed. Ogden is stunned in the audience, and his mother is staring sadly at me from the edge.

I don't deserve this... I don't deserve to die!

**Thanks so much for reading! I'm so sorry I haven't updated for months. I was waiting to get another review, and I didn't, but I still got thousands of views, which is strange. I still need one male tribute so PM me if you want to submit one.**


	11. District 10 Reapings

**Chayenne Wilson's Reaping**

My feet make small footsteps on the red silk carpet. I make my way from my room to the kitchen in the pale morning light. The house is silent and the shadows of shelves with small sculptures loom out at me. I walk to the bathroom and wash my face with warm water before I glance at myself. I guess I'm average looking. My long brown bangs stretch down to my eyes and the scruffy dark brown lump of hair spreads to my back. My blue eyes glint in the mirror and stare back at me as if asking me why I'm meant to be here.

In the kitchen I chop some fruits up for a salad. Then I make two more, for my mom and dad, and sit down at the counter while glancing out the window.

In the distance, green pastures spread for miles around. Square black and white animals called cows mill around, snorting and fattening up on grass. Beside the pastures are a few farms, and then an austere-looking fence, towering above and around the district, reminding us we can not leave unless we're headed west on a train to the Capitol and to our death in the games.

I finish the fruit salad and head back up the stairs to my room, large and wonderful in most peoples' eyes.

But I hate it.

My father, the mayor of District 10, inherited this house from his father, the previous mayor. He is old, in his sixties, with a dark beard and bright, gleaming eyes. If he weren't my father, I wouldn't be able to stand him. He's one of the cruelest mayors, after districts 11 and 13, and enjoys watching law-breakers and rebels scream in agony as his assistants whip him with the finest, most slick steel cords. If he weren't my father, would I love him? Even though everyone despises me because of him, because they think I'll be like him someday? Even though I only have two friends, and the rest of district can't stand me? I got teased and tormented in the hallways at school, and even in a higher class, expensive school, the torture continued.

I remember when I was little, around seven or eight, and I first ran home to Dad crying. I told him how I had got teased that day for being the mayor's daughter by some kids in the grade older than me. They said they were out to get me, and then punched me hard in the stomach. Dad had hugged me, then stormed out. The next day, the parents of the kids were being executed and the whole district was invited to watch.

That's when I learned to keep my troubles on the inside.

My mother is the opposite of my father. She's kind, loving, nurturing, and the best parent you could possibly have. She thinks I'm going to be a great success, but obviously nothing good's going to happen to me anytime soon.

In my room I take a seat by the window facing the rest of District 10. The urban area is small, as most of the workers and families are farmers. I take out my sketchbook and gently press the pencil on the paper. My hand starts moving and I begin to draw the Justice Building in the distance, so treacherous in the dim light. Slowly my hand moves around the paper, beautifully crafting the building which causes so much grief.

I finish the drawing as the sun begins to rise. The drawing is gorgeous, but I crumple it up and toss it in the trash. No one cares about my drawings, not like people used to. But I have plenty of time for it, since I never leave the house unless to venture into the backyard and draw the lilies in the pond.

By the time I turned twelve I so tormented and bullied my father agreed to let me drop out of school and let a tutor come every few days to help me with my learning. Everytime I stepped outside, even just for a moment to check the mail or water the garden, one of the ruthless kids would be there, waiting in the bushes to attack me with ferocious insults and slaps to the face. Of course I would never tell my father who and why, because that would only lead to more executions and more grief.

Of course, on Reaping Day I have to go to the square. So every year I make a mad sprint to Dad's car and we drive to the square. I wait in a small parking lot outside the plaza until the reapings are done and my father returns. There's still a chance I could get reaped, but I'm only fifteen so my name is in the bowl only four times.

Suddenly my mother appears in the doorway. Her lips carry a sad smile, because she knows what I've been through. I smile warmly back.

"I made some fruit salads for you for breakfast," I say softly. I don't want to mention the reapings, or the bullying, or anything that will upset me now.

"Thank you," she says, her eyes beginning to water. Mom doesn't have the best reputation either, being the mayor's wife and all. But when she married him he was a different person.

Before I have time to answer, the doorbell rings. My eyes dilate in fear and I make a dash to the closet. My mother straightens up and heads downstairs to answer the door. This always happens when someone knocks or rings the doorbell. I have panic attacks in public, and whenever people are around. Even when a stranger is inside the house.

I hear talking downstairs, and then the running of feet on the stairs. A few moments later my bedroom door flies open. I peek my eyes out and sigh in relief.

"Hullo!" Nadine chirps. I push the door open. Nadine was a girl in my class a few years ago, and was one of the few students who didn't tease or torment me. So we became friends, and now every week she visits me.

I smile. "Hi, Nadine," I say. "So, what's going on in the outside world?"

Nadine frowned. "Well," she started. "A husband and wife were executed yesterday for plotting to leave the district. And a few weeks ago a man was killed for harvesting wheat illegally." My eyes widen.

"But since then," she continues. "Nothing new has occurred. Really, I doubt anyone's out to get you," she laughs. Nadine doesn't seem to understand anything that has happened to me in the past year.

"Let's go outside, to the backyard," I suggest. We make our way there, and Mom smiles at us as she eats her salad from the kitchen.

"The reaping is going to be soon," she reminds us. "Nadine, you can drive with us if you want."

In the backyard, we sit on a tall, shady orange tree which looms over the pond and the wall. Hidden in the branches, the passers can't see us. I swing my feet down and grin. I always feel all right with Nadine.

"So, think you'll get reaped this year?" I joke. We're both pretty rich, and joking about it seems wrong. But it just comes out of my mouth.

Nadine grimaces. "It won't be either of us," she responds. "I hope it's that Cristal girl- I have to say she deserves it. And that boy in our grade..." she drones on, and I stop listening and glance into the street. A poor child is sitting on the dirt road with an empty can, begging for a couple of coins. Slowly I stick my head out of the branches and reach into my pocket. I take out a coin and fling it towards him, over the wall and at his feet. Startled, he looks up and sees my face peeking out of the tree. Then his face turns into a snarl and he hurls the can at me. It misses by a long shot and smashes into the wall. I duck my head back into the tree's branches, and glance back at Nadine who is still jabbering on.

"Want to... start getting ready for the reapings?" I suggest in a shaky tone. Nadine glances at me curiously but replies with a "Sure."

After showering, I change into deep blue dress and enter my room, where Nadine is applying makeup. I tie back my hair and we sit for a while, chatting about reapings and District 10 and whatever similarities we have in common. Finally, at an hour before two, we slowly walk to the hallway to get ready to leave. Dad has to be there extra early to take his seat onstage. Normally I would wait in my section at the square but because of the mayor's (my father's) demands, I can stay in the car.

Dad finally arrives. "Good morning, Chayenne," he says and embraces me. "And hello, Nadine," he continues. "Are we taking you with to the reapings?"

"Yes," Nadine replies timidly. She has always been afraid of my father.

I make sure the coast is clear, and then I swing the door open. I sprint to the car and pull the handle. But it's locked. Some people across the street begin to scowl at me, and I panic. I feel dizzy. I want to go back inside. I can't be here. I don't belong here. Right when I feel like fainting Dad rushes over and unlocks the door. I jump in and Nadine follows me apprehensively after seeing my condition.

Dad turns the car on and slowly we make our way to the Square. It is about half a mile away, and we're the only car but the road is unpaved and bumpy. As soon as we arrive at the empty parking lot, Nadine and my father step out of the car.

"Good luck," Nadine whispers and then she walks away. Dad follows.

Time slowly passes in the car. I read my book and soon I begin to sweat with nervousness. I check my watch. The reapings have begun by now. I begin to shake with fear of being reaped. I'd surely die. I have no skill whatsoever and I won't be able to make any allies. Another fifteen minutes pass. I finish my book and stare out the window, waiting for Dad to get back.

My heart flutters with relief as I see him in the distance as he begins to approach the car. But where's Nadine? I guess she decided to walk home from the square. Suddenly I spot two figures in matching uniforms march next to Dad. Is he under arrest? But then I see that Dad looks unhappy. Normally he's ecstatic during the reaping because he likes seeing kids fight to the death. But why now...? Did Nadine get reaped!?

Dad reaches the car and opens the door for me. "Come on," he says. "You have to come with us. You have been reaped."

My head spins. "No!" I scream. I shove the door close and lock each one. No one is going to take me away. Dad is yelling at me from outside, but I ignore him and act as if I'm reading my book.

Suddenly the window crashes and glass explodes everywhere. One of the peacekeepers has shattered the window with his baton. Before I can react he is dragging me through the window and over the glass. Small needles of glass seem to pull the skin off my back as I scream hysterically.

Knowing that if I keep this up I will get injected with sleep medicine, I shut myself up as the peacekeeper takes my arm. The second peacekeeper takes my other arm and together they drag me to the square. I whimper as we approach it. From the roped off sections, I see kids I barely recognize laughing and screaming insults at me. I shut my eyes and cry and they continue to jeer and shout insults. The peacekeepers drag me onstage and drop me next to a boy, who I guess has already been reaped. Sobbing, I slump down on the stage before I am pulled up again and pushed into the Justice Room. I whirl around in shock as the doors close behind me and I am let alone.

**Martin Wimbleton's Reaping**

I take a bite of the pancake and syrup breakfast. The flavor erupts on my tongue and I take a gulp of milk before turning back to Hyatt, the servant.

I scowl and snarl at him ferociously. "I hate you!" I scream and yank the plate from the table, hurling it at his head. He ducks and it smashes against the wall. Hyatt looks up, startled. Why is he so surprised? If I don't like what he cooks, aren't I supposed to let him know?

"No!" I holler at him. "It tasted bad! Now put the plate back together and hit yourself with it!"

Hyatt rolls his eyes and gets a broom to sweep up the remains of the plate. He's such a horrible person. Hyatt is somewhere in his twenties and is the worst cook. Literally. He thinks I'm a spoiled brat, but he should know by know what types of maple syrup I like on my pancakes!

Furiously I grab my money bag and storm out the door of our mansion to go to the market. Our house is one of the biggest in District 10, located right on a large cattle ranch. Behind a circular fence is a dry patch of grass where all of the cows live. I can see Mother by the cows, feeding them and filling up their water containers.

"Hello, Mother!" I practically sing as I pass her. She raises her hand in greeting.

Mother thinks I am a perfect, incredible son. Of course, I am exactly that, so I don't know what is wrong with Hyatt. Maybe his head was beaten in as a child, for all I care.

I make my way down the path to the market, about a quarter mile down the road. Ugh, this is so annoying! I shouldn't have to walk such a distance, stupid Hyatt should do it instead. Then again, Hyatt is so uneducated he probably can't identify the difference between an apple and a pear.

I pass a poor begging girl in a tattered pink dress.

"Do you have any money to spare?" she asks in that horrid, disgusting tone.

"Get away from me!" I shriek at her. "I'll call the police on you, you uncivilized brat! You probably have rabies, and I hope your parents are executed or turned into avoxes!" With that, I kick her in the stomach and storm off.

At the store, I pick out some lemons and apples. At the cashier, the man behind the counter charges four cents too much, so I hurl an apple at his head and storm off with the rest.

On the way back, I spy my friend Howard, who is incredibly poor. After all, his house is only nine thousand square feet while mine is ten. While we go through the neighborhood, we have chats about how improper the beggars in the street are. They have no right to be polluting our streets and taking up space.

At a fork in the road we say farewell.

"I'll see you at the reapings, and we get to see what idiotic child will be picked," I say om a snarky tone and then I stalk off. Once home, I dump the groceries on the table and walk to the bathroom. I'm sweating terribly because of the long walk. In the mirror, I see my beautiful features flashing out at me. My handsome brown hair is soaked and my brown eyes glitter with generosity. I'm also incredibly skinny- 140 pounds at a 5 foot 2 height- I know, very fit. Some of the other kids at school think I'm fat but they're just jealous. I'd like to see them get reaped and get a sword in the heart during the bloodbath. What a proper sight that would be.

I take a shower to wash off the sweat and then I go back to the kitchen to make lunch for myself. I make a delightful soup, so mouthwatering and perfect. Perfect. It's the right word, no- the perfect word to describe me.

Mother enters the room. "Hello, Martin," she says cheerfully. "What are you making?"

"You can't have any!" I scream at her. "You stupid, fat, hideous parent! I hate you!" With that, I run up the stairs. What is wrong with my parents!? I think they have some mental disability that makes them so idiotic. Dad is just the same.

I scream into the pillow and run around the room, yelling and tearing out my hair. I hate my parents! Why is my life so awful!? I'm too amazing to deserve this horrible life!

I slump against the wall and remain like that for a couple of hours. Then I look at the clock on the wall. It is almost time for the reapings. Slowly I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and then I go to the living room to get my shoes. Mother is wearily sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee.

"Don't worry!" I say warmly as I approach her. "I forgive you for being such a bad parent today. I know you love me, especially since I'm so perfect!" She sighs and picks up her bag.

"Let's go to the square now," she says tiredly. "Dad will be there."

Dad is a peacekeeper here in District 10, so he doesn't have much time for our family. Hyatt bids us farewell and I glare at him before we exit.

Slowly we make our way to the plaza which is located a half mile away. Once again I begin to sweat due to the large distance.

When we finally reach the square, most of the people have arrived. After my finger is pricked I take my spot next to Howard as we discuss how to get rid of all of the poor in town. Finally, the improper escort, Atalyta, stands from her seat and walks over to the microphone. She clears her throat and then begins.

"Hello!" she says happily. "Welcome to this year's reapings for District 10! I know that this is such an exciting event for us all, but we need to begin 226 years ago..." Atalyta begins her dull speech about how the districts have been formed.

"Now then!" she giggles. "Let's choose our tributes. Ladies first!"

Atalyta makes her way to the bowl, stumbling in her yellow heels and grabs a piece of paper from the bowl. She returns to the microphone.

"Now!" she announces. "This years tribute is... Nosliw Enneyahc?"

There is silence from the crowd.

"Oopsies!" she giggles. "I was reading it upside down! Now, this year's female tribute is... Chayenne Wilson!"

Cheers erupt from the crowd. I have heard of this girl before- apparently she is very improper. But unrest travels through the crowd as the people begin to realize that she isn't here. Heads turn and swivel as they glance at the section of which she should be standing.

I take notice of the mayor, who stands with a somewhat pained expression on his face. The mayor walks to Atalyta and whispers something in her ear. At once she motions to two peacekeepers who quickly march away with the mayor.

"Well!" she chirps. "How exciting! In the meantime, let's choose our courageous male tribute!"

Atalyta skips over to the bowl and digs her hand in. Several papers flutter out as her hand returns with one. Then she prances back to the microphone and reads the name.

"Martin Wimbleton!"

My blood seems to boil as I cross my arms across my chest. Eyes glare at me with hatred- these citizens are so improper, but I do not budge.

Atalyta follows the citizens' gazes and her eyes meet mine. "Martin?" she says in her obnoxious tone. "Come on up, Martin! You don't have to be afraid of me, I don't often bite strangers."

A peacekeeper pushes through the other sixteen year olds in the crowd and points a gun at my back. "Get on the stage," he mutters under his breath.

"NO!" I explode, screaming at the top of my lungs. "I hate the Capitol! Someone volunteer for me! Now! Or I will think bad thoughts about you all!" There is no response from the crowd. The peacekeeper nudges my back with the pistol. Fuming, I make my way out of the crowd and up the steps. Then I shout one last thing. "I'll kill the Capitol!" I shout. "I'll kill them all, one by one, and rip out their improper throats! I am too proper!" Furiously I sit on the stage and wait for someone to volunteer. Still, no one does. The improper mayor's daughter returns and slumps next to me.

This has to have been the most improper thing that has happened all day.

**Sorry, these have probably been the worst reapings I have written in this fanfic. Anyways, the one tribute I still need is from District 11, so I can't start writing until I have him. So PM me for the format of how to create the tribute. I'm so happy there's only three reapings left, you guys have no idea how boring it is to write them.**


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